


Plain English

by shoestringheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (that's half a dick joke), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- Graduate Assistants, English GRAD students even, English students, Gen, M/M, Shakespeare Jokes, Slow Burn, Wormtail is the other half, sirens don't succ, the worst, willy shakes - Freeform, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoestringheart/pseuds/shoestringheart
Summary: Remus flinched at the use of his name, and in that moment, he decided that he did not like or care for Mr. Black or his friends and he would, for as long as he lasted in the program, never forgive them for getting him called out at graduate student orientation.This ultimatum lasted for a grand total of two hours.**Remus is a graduate assistant in an English program. He expected to get a Masters degree. He ended up with much, much more.





	1. In Which Remus is Pegged Quite Accurately

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsnotlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnotlove/gifts).



> This happened because I recently was selected as a graduate assistant at the university I attend, and two of my fellow grad assistants are, essentially, James and Sirius incarnate. I'm 100% serious.
> 
> So much of this fic would not be possible without the positive reinforcement and validation from itsnotlove. thank you thank you thank you.

“Essentially, the program is designed to be completed in two years, so the tuition waiver applies to enough hours to cover two years of study. You should aim to take around 9 hours per semester, and consider taking summer classes, depending on what you’re thinking thesis-wise—creative, of course, or degree paper.”

  
The woman—Dr. McMankin? McMurphin? Mc—something or other—paused, finally, giving Remus time to catch up in his notes.

  
He’d just finished write _decide on thesis_ when she started in again.

  
“We do have Graduate Assistants who overstay their welcome. If you take longer than eight years to complete the program, your tuition waiver becomes invalid.”

  
Remus wrote _finish in 8_ around the time that the guy behind him flicked his ear. He jumped, and craned his neck to glare at the offender.

  
“Hey.”  


It was a stage whisper at best, and Remus swore he saw Dr. Mc—McGoon? Maybe? glare at him before he returned his attention to the stage-whisperer.  


“Hey, d’you have any sweets on you? Only, my mate James’s a diabetic and—”  


“I thought you were the diabetic—” This came from the stage-whisperer’s right. The stage-whisperer froze, and then turned to glare.  


“Excellent, well _done_ , Pete. Ever heard of a cover? You’re supposed to be into “reading between the lines” and all that, aren’t you, you fuc—”  


The stage-whispering had escalated to this point, and had drawn the attention of Dr. Mc—McGarland? Mc—whatever her name was had noticed and had stopped talking and—  


“Mr. Black, isn’t it?”  


Stage-whisperer froze, caught with his proverbial hand in the proverbial cookie jar.  


“Er—”  


“And Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Potter, yes?”  


Remus flinched at the use of his name, and in that moment, he decided that he did not like or care for Mr. Black or his friends and he would, for as long as he lasted in the program, never forgive them for getting him called out at graduate student orientation.  


(*)  


This ultimatum lasted for a grand total of two hours.  


They had to meet with Dr. Slughorn after Dr. McGonagall had lectured them all on the importance of being organized, and Dr. Slughorn had tried to explain his (overly confusing) computer lab schedule, before “leaving them to it” and waddling out of the classroom they were meeting in to his office.  


“Reckon he’s gone to get a drink, then,” one of the boys who’d asked Remus for chocolate at the orientation said. It wasn’t stage-whisperer--Mr. Black--but one of the others. “Right, who’s got a tack?”  


Remus rolled his eyes and turned his chair away from the group, turning into a group of girls.  


“Remus, right?” one of them asked. She was generically pretty, Remus supposed--blonde hair, nice smile. “I’m Marlene.”  


“Yeah, Remus--I’m Remus. Nice to meet you.”  


“You’re in poetry, yeah? I’m in poetry as well, suppose it’s the two of us.”  


“Ah, excellent,” Remus said with a smile. “Wondered if I was the lone poet--not the first time.”  


Marlene chuckled. “Not hardly. There’s two other second-years, but we’re the two incoming. You’ve met with Kettleburn, then?”  


“Yeah, for a bit,” Remus said. “He always that--”  


“Yeah.” Marlene grinned. “He’s a good sort, though. Anyway, this is Dorcas and Amelia.”  


Remus offered the girls a wave and they turned to their respective schedules.  


(*)  


“There’s got to be an easier way to organize this,” Remus said finally, to no one in particular, after staring at the sheet long enough that he could feel a tension headache building, and he despaired of knowing where he was to be teaching and, furthermore, where to tell his students to report to.  


Marlene leaned over her desk with her pencil in hand.  


“Look here, if you just think of it as a poorly formatted word document—” Marlene drew a few lines, connecting the times and places. “See? Doesn’t that help?”  


“Doesn’t what help?” Stage-whisperer was back, this time leaning over Remus’ desk. Remus fought the urge to cover the sheet Marlene’d just clarified for him with his arms.  


Instead, he opted for quiet passive-aggression. “Sorry,” he said stiffly, and not sorry at all. “Didn’t realize Marlene hadn’t shared her tip with the class.”  


“On my way to,” she said with a grin, completely missing Remus’ point and standing, flouncing off to the next group, leaving Remus alone with stage-whisperer.  


“Look, I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, yeah?”  


“What gave you that idea?” It was as snootily dismissive as Remus could manage (which, all told, wasn’t all that snooty or dismissive, but he was trying).  


“Listen, I know you think I’ve ruined things for you with Dr. McGonagall—” (right, Remus filed away internally, that was her name) “—but in my experience good ol’ Minerva’s the forgiving type. And, in my defense, you look like the sort of bloke to carry sweets with you. Am I wrong?”  


Remus thought, briefly, of the chocolate bar tucked in his backpack, and then decided to, in a roundabout way, avoid the question. “What’s that even mean, hm? What exactly does that sort of a bloke look like?”  


“I knew it.”  


“Knew what, exactly?”  


“Knew you were the sort of bloke to carry sweets with you, keep up. See, James and Peter and I—we devised a sort of plan, right? To coax something out of you, but it was blown to bits by Peter’s brilliant grasp of metaphor—the man can interpret Shakespeare like you’ve never seen, but try to get him to come along on a last minute plot to score some chocolate and he’s all thumbs.”  


Remus paused, caught between being offended that stage-whisperer had pegged him so—accurately, distraught at the inappropriate use of “metaphor,” or frustrated that he still didn’t know stage-whisperer beyond three possible last names which, as previously established, was no great strength of Remus’ anyway. In the end, he settled on a bit of all three.  


“Listen, Mr.—er—you. Even if—”  


“Black,” stage-whisperer supplied. “Surname’s Black, or Sirius if that’s a bit too formal for you. We are peers after all. Colleagues, even.”  


Remus filed that away and lifted his chin, intending to finish his telling off before sorting out names. “—Even if I were the sort of bloke to carry chocolate with me, I certainly wouldn’t give any to you after you’ve behaved the way you have.”  


“Behav—” Sirius let out a sharp clap of laughter in (Remus assumed) feigned disbelief. “Behaved the way I have? My god, I haven’t been told off like this since my Mother found pot in my top drawer.”  


This, to no one’s surprise, only added to Remus’ ire. “Well, I’m not telling you off, I’m just— look, you’ve already got me on our director’s bad side—”  


“Oh, Dr. McGonagall’s not the director of the GAs! Just the grad school director.”  


“—that’s supposed to make me feel better?”  


“Well, I just mean—”  


“No, I know very well what you mean.” Remus tried, again, to emulate snooty dismissiveness, with varying success, if the way Sirius’ eyebrows arched was any indicator.  


“Right, well. My mistake—”  


Sirius looked as though he were about to say more, but was interrupted by one of the other foiled chocolate thieves.  


“Pads, mate, Wormy’s about to launch phase 2 of operation desk. Reckon if we can get the three by the door then—”  


“Have you got a desk?” Sirius interrupted his friend, turning rather abruptly back to Remus.  


“Have I—none of us’ve got desks that’s— that’s what today’s for,” Remus said, faltering just a bit at Sirius’ change of pace.  


“Right genius you are,” Sirius said drily. “Never would’ve guessed—has anyone asked you to share a desk?”  


“Er—no—no, I’ve not been asked yet, just figured—”  


“Perfect,” Sirius said, wrapping his fingers around Remus’ wrist. “Come on, then.”


	2. In Which Remus Gains an Injury and a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, Remus should have thought about his athletic abilities before agreeing to the plan... which he isn't even sure he agreed to in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as ever, to itsnotlove.

The plan to snag desks, which Remus wasn’t even sure he’d agreed to, was apparently to position themselves at the two doors to the office and then sprint to the wanted desks. There was only one problem with the plan: neither Remus nor, it seemed, Peter had any sense of the minimal athletic skill it would take to sprint to the desk.

This did not deter Sirius or James, and the moment the doors opened, the three of them, as well as a slightly more reluctant Remus, raced into the room.

It happened in slow motion. One moment he was running (as much as Remus ran), and the next his foot was hooked around a chair leg, his ankle gave a sickening crack, and he fell, cracking his chin on the corner of a desk on his way down. His chin split open, not unlike a ripened peach, and a rather impressive gush of blood spouted forth.

“Oh fucki—”

(*)

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, and I’m sorry.”

This was the fourth time Remus had had this conversation with Sirius, only this time he was sitting in the waiting room at the walk-in surgery, a rag over his chin and in a wheelchair he’d only agreed to because his ankle refused to bear his weight.

“You didn’t trip me.”

“I may as well have.”

“You gave me a ride to the surgery. It’s fine. We’re even.” Remus didn’t really believe that he’d ever forgive Sirius, but he was pretty dependent on the other for the moment, so it wasn’t like he could complain and make this… even more awkward than it already was.

One broken ankle, two crutches, seven stitches, and a walking boot later, Remus was clambering awkwardly into Sirius’ passenger seat again. He took the opportunity this time to look around, since before he’d had his head tilted back against the seat.

“Look--”

“If you apologize again, I swear to god I’ll scream.”

“----as much as I’m tempted to apologize just to see  _ you _ scream, I’ll leave that one alone for the moment. I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a bite.”

“I can scream when properly provoked, and believe me,  _ Black _ , I’ve had plenty of provocation today.”

“Wow, hostile. Okay. Well, as much as I’d like to explore  _ that _ particular confession, you haven’t answered the question. Are you hungry? Those pain pills probably shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach, yeah?”

“I have food at my flat.”

“I’m sure you do,” Sirius said. “Most people do. Oddly enough, you  _ still _ haven’t answered my question. Shall I ask again?”

Remus sighed. “--Alright, fine, what--what did you have in mind?”

Sirius clapped his hands together, before briskly rubbing them. Remus ignored the voice in the pit of his stomach that said  _ danger _ and leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed.

(*)

“...so there I am, balls deep in my very first workshop, and Hooch--who has the absolute best name, d’you know she’s published under R. Hooch?--turns to me and says  _ this isn’t bad writing, but it hasn’t got any plot, so I’m not sure why you’ve brought it in _ \--and every jaw in the room dropped.” Sirius  paused to chug half his water and then shook his head. “Absolutely fucking mad, but she was right, so…” He shrugged a shoulder.

Setting aside that Sirius had ordered breakfast food for--whatever meal this was, Remus could begrudgingly admit that  the other was entertaining, and he took Sirius’ willingness to tell his life story to examine the other as he ate.

Remus could (begrudgingly) admit that the other was attractive, in a way that Remus would never be able to emulate or attain, either in himself or in a possible partner. Good bone structure (which sounded creepier than intended), and dark hair that he got away with wearing long. If Remus didn’t put at least 80% of the blame for today’s events on Sirius, he’d have a crush.

Sirius took another sip of his water and then picked his fork up. “What about you? You didn’t do your undergrad here, did you?”

“Oh--” It caught Remus off-guard and he shrugged, picking at a piece of crust from his sandwich. “No, I--I did my undergrad back home.”

“Back home?’

“Yeah, I--I’m not from here.” He left it at that (for the moment) and cleared his throat. “I only applied as a--a shot in the dark. It was a pipe dream, honestly. And when I got in, I thought,   
well, that’s nice, but there’s no way I can afford tuition, so then the Teaching Assistantship came through, and, well.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Studying poetry here, can’t--doesn’t get much better than that, does it?”

Sirius chuckled. “Ah, sure. Poetry.”

“English, then.”

Sirius toasted him with his drink. “Fair enough.” He glanced at his watch and motioned for the check. Once the waitress brought it and they’d paid, Sirius laced his fingers together, leaning forward. “Are you tired?”

“I—what? Am I tired? I—no?”

“Excellent. I’ll introduce you to everyone properly.”

(*)

Sirius, it turned out, lived in a flat relatively close to the diner, which was relatively close to campus. As they walked out to the car, Sirius typed into his phone and then grinned. It was a little wolfish, and Remus distanced himself just a bit from the other.

“James and his furry little problem are going to meet us, and Peter’s probably already there,” Sirius said, as though he hadn’t noticed Remus’ distancing, and maybe he hadn’t.

“His--furry little--does James have a… a rabbit?”

“Oh, no, a rabbit would be much preferable to the thing he’s chosen as his girlfriend.”

“Ah--”

“You’ll see.”

True to Sirius’ prediction, Peter (Remus assumed) was already inside, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a book open in his lap.

“Fuck, Pete, at least wait til the semester’s started.”

“Flitwick’s already assigned forty pages, to be read by the beginning of the first day of class,” Peter (assumption correct) replied. “We can’t all write stories and fuck off in workshop. And you know he’s going to assign a quiz. Short little fucker.”

“Aren’t you a graduate student?” Sirius asked, crossing across the living room to the kitchen. He stuck his head in the fridge, leaving Remus balancing awkwardly on his crutches in what consisted of a foyer. “Why is Flitwick  _ quizzing _ you? This isn’t Shakespeare 201. You know Willy Shakes like the back of your hand, or did you forget that time in the dorm when you got tanked off your arse and spent the night reciting Sonnets 134-147 to Mary Macdonald? Because let me  _ promise  _ you, the rest of us have not, nor will we ever, forget that night.”

“First,” Peter said, talking through the pen he’d jammed in his mouth, “I thought we agreed you’d never mention that night again. Second, the back of your hand is cliche, and for someone who supposedly represents the cream of the respective fiction writing crop, you should be ashamed.” Peter paused, removed the pen from his mouth, and carefully underlined a passage. “Third, the class is Elizabethan Lit, not a specifically Shakespeare class, so we’re starting with Sir Philip Sidney, which is weird, but Flitwick’s the one with the PhD.” Peter stuck the pen back in his mouth and turned a page. “Fourth, and finally—”

“Fucking finally,” Remus swore he heard Sirius mutter from the kitchen, amidst the clinking of bottles and the snap of the refrigerator.

“ _ Finally _ ,” Peter repeated, speaking a little louder and a little more shrill, “calling him Willy Shakes doesn’t make you sound cool, it makes you sound like a douchebag. You can sit down,” Peter added, and it was so close to his four part response to Sirius, Remus initially assumed it was some sort of rap battle-esque challenge to Sirius, so it took Remus a moment to realize that Peter was speaking to him.

“Er--thanks,” Remus said, and clambered his way across the living room, ignoring the peculiar oddity of being told to sit down in someone else’s flat, by someone who didn’t occupy the flat either.

Sirius emerged from the kitchen just as Remus settled rather awkwardly on a chair between the kitchen and the fireplace. He held three bottles of beer, one of which he handed to Remus, who regarded it for a minute, decided he probably shouldn’t mix pain pills and alcohol, and set on the lip of the fireplace. The other beer, Sirius held out to Peter, just out of the shorter man’s reach.

“Your rebuttal skills are rusty. You didn’t answer the question.”

Peter looked up from his reading, reached for the beer, and missed. Sirius cackled and Peter rolled his eyes, sitting up a little straighter so he could snatch the bottle out of Sirius’ hand.

“I did answer the question. Flitwick has the PhD, he can do whatever he wants, up to and including giving reading quizzes to graduate students.”

“Hooch doesn’t—”

The door opened then, interrupting the rather fascinating dynamic between the two, and James—Remus assumed, which had been going well for him thus far—and a red-head (James’ girlfriend, presumably) let themselves into the flat.

Sirius turned, mid-retort, and beamed. “Excellent. James, a beer? Lily, the blood of the sailors you’ve lured to their deaths, I presume?”

“Clever,” Lily replied, in a tone that implied she thought the opposite, but that a verbal spar with Sirius was something she was less than interested in engaging in.

“A beer’s excellent, Sirius,” James said,breezing past Lily into the living room. He called it over his shoulder and stopped just short of the chair Remus was sitting in, the smile fading quickly from his face. “Ah—”

“Er--hi,” Remus said, extending his hand. “I’m--”

“I know who you are,” James assured him. “You’re in my seat.”

“I--oh--?”

“That’s--”

“James--” Sirius tried, but was silenced by a look.

“My seat.” James crossed his arms.

“He’s on crutches, James, just--”

“I can’t believe I’ve been disrespected like this.”

“Nobody’s--”

“In my  _ own house _ \--”

“This is  _ our _ flat, James, and you know I--”

“My own  _ throne _ \--”

“Now, that’s taking it a bit--”

“It’s fine,” Remus interrupted, holding up a hand and fumbling around for his crutches. “It’s fine, I can move.”

“Remus, you don’t have to--”

“Blimey, where’d you find this guy?” James asked, tone changing. He kicked Remus’ crutches out of the way and perched on the lip of the fireplace, narrowly avoiding sitting down on the beer bottle Remus had abandoned there. “Thought you said he had --er--what did you call it--” James fumbled around in his pocket as Lily sighed from the foyer.

“ _ ‘Doesn’t let me get away with jack--’ _ ”

“Hey!” Sirius yelped (there was really no other word for it). “I know Lily’s sucked your soul out through your co--”

“You’re mixing mythologies again, Sirius,” Lily said crisply. “Sirens--which is, apparently, what you’ve gone with  _ this _ evening--don’t suck--”

“In some translations they do,” Peter piped up from the couch. “In fact, there’s a writer in--”

“Nobody asked you, Elizabeth,” Sirius interrupted. “Go back to Willy Shakes.”

“I’m not reading Shakespeare and stop calling him Willy--”

Remus, hopelessly confused by that point, had given up on trying to understand what, exactly, was going on, and turned to James, who was watching the proceedings and meticulously picking at the label on his beer bottle. James visibly brightened when Remus turned to him and gestured to his chin.

“Hold up okay? Filch says the stain’ll never come out.” This was announced with some pride, and Remus frowned.

“Not exactly the impression I wanted to make--”

“Nah, it’ll be a great story. Slughorn practically wet himself in excitement. He loves telling horror stories of others’ embarrassment on the first day. Now he can retire that awful story with the textbooks and the elevator. You’ve done everyone a service, really. Alright, though? Made an awful sound.”

“Quite,” Remus said stiffly.

“Bled like a fucking pig, didn’t it?”

“Ah--” Remus was spared a reply by Lily yelling that Sirens don’t suck dick, and that she was offended by the gross misuse of mythology.

“Right, that’s my cue.” James clapped Remus on the shoulder and headed off to mediate, but before he did, he turned back to Remus.

“I’m giving it a pass on account of the ankle and the day you’ve had, but that’s my seat, yeah?”

They were all mad. That was the only viable conclusion Remus could come to.

Lily flopped on the couch next to Peter as Sirius disappeared into the kitchen once again, resurfacing with another beer and a glass of water for Lily.

“Collected fresh from the swamp this morning, my sunshine,” he said as he presented it to her.

“That’s a silkie, you fu--”

“So, Remus,” Sirius said, far too loud for the occasion. Lily sipped her water and spluttered.

“This is vodka, you--”

“ _ Remus _ , tell us about yourself.”

Lily excused herself to the kitchen, swearing quietly under her breath.

“I--er--”

Three sets of eyes--including Peter’s, though he had a finger pressed to a section of the page and his pen hanging out of his mouth again--were on him quite suddenly. Sirius leaned against the far wall of the living room.

“I’m--I’m Remus Lupin, I’m from--er, not here, and I study--I study poetry.”

“A poet!” James crowed. “Ah, Wormy, aren’t you pleased?”

“Delighted,” Peter said. “You like Shakespeare, Remus?”

“I--uh, he’s alright, I suppose--”

“Peter loves Shakespeare,” James interrupted. “Say, Pete, let’s hear Sonnet 135--”

“Right, that’s the second time that’s been mentioned,” Peter said, rather sharply. “And I thought we weren’t mentioning it again.”

“What is it-- _ Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot and Will in overplus _ \--”

“You spent our our first two years of undergrad writing bad love poetry to Lily--”

“That’s the key, Pete, you gotta write your  _ own _ \--”

“Who’s your favorite?” Sirius asked, ignoring Peter and James, eyes still on Remus.

“I--uh, Elizabeth Bishop, probably. She’s got--she’s done some brilliant stuff.”

Sirius nodded in approval. “I’m short fiction. Lily teaches at a girls’ secondary school. St. Margaret’s, heard of it?”

“No?”

“That’s okay, neither has most of the population. That’s why they stuck Lils there. Can’t have her scaring off the children every full moon--”

“That’s not even consistent, and I can hear you,” Lily called from the kitchen.

“She started ruining James’ life about three years past,” Sirius continued, as though he hadn’t heard her.

“Can still hear you!” Lily called. Sirius pressed on.

“Talked him into a TESOL certificate instead of sticking with short fiction--James and I both did our undergrad in short fiction.”

“TESOL is more useful,” Lily said, stepping out of the kitchen with a glass of water (Remus assumed).

“Yeah, well, you’d be more useful in the--”

“If you value your life, Black, I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Lily said pleasantly, crossing the living room to sit next to James on the couch.

Sirius shrugged a shoulder and offered Remus half a grin. “She doesn’t scare me.”

“She has perfectly functional ears, thank you,” Lily said, tucking herself up against James, who wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head before going back to his conversation with Peter. 

“She should,” Remus said. “She does me.”

“Nah,” Sirius said, taking a sip of his beer. “Her bark is way worse than her bite.”

“Can confirm,” James offered from the couch. A quick glance over confirmed that Lily was absorbed in her phone and Peter had gone back to his reading. “Though her bite--”

“James, please. I just ate.”

“Lily’s not as bad as he makes her out to be,” James added, addressing Remus.

“She’s much worse,” Sirius agreed and Lily, without looking up from her phone, offered a nonverbal response that involved one finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear any thoughts you care to spare on your way out!


	3. In Which Remus and Sirius Debate Quality of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus plays Bingo, talks about quality versus quantity of life, and holds on for dear life in Sirius' tornadic personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, as ever, to itsnotlove.
> 
> I added a bit more since this was looked over by itsnotlove's lovely little eyes, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, Remus makes a reference to Tom Wolfe in here, who wrote Advice to Writers. If you aren't familiar, here's a quote that sums up what Remus is referencing pretty well: "The problem with fiction, it has to be plausible. That’s not true with non-fiction."

It was going on 3 in the morning when Sirius dropped him off at the front door of his building.

“How’re you getting to class, then?” he asked.

“Pardon?” Remus asked, still trying to manage the logistics of getting out of the car with crutches and his things.

“D’you have a car? I didn’t even ask, I just assumed—”

“I walk,” Remus interrupted. And fuck him, but wasn’t that just the best thing he’d remembered. “I’ve a car, but seems silly to drive, living so close—”

“Right, I’ll pick you up. 9 on the dot.”

“That’s six hours—”

“Nine. On the dot.”

Remus had finagled his way out of the car by this point and he crouched awkwardly to peer in at Sirius through the window. “You don’t have to--”

“I know. See you at nine.” Sirius pulled away, leaving Remus standing in the parking lot with his crutches and his backpack, wondering how, exactly, he’d gone from mortal enemies to friends with the chocolate thieves in the course of just over 12 hours.

(*)

It became a bit of a routine, Sirius picking Remus up on his way to campus for their admittedly exhaustive training.

Even after he was given the go-ahead from the physician to ditch the crutches (which happened 3 days before the start of the semester) and just stick to the walking boot, Sirius insisted on picking him up. 

The Sunday before class started, Remus had no plans aside from sleeping in as late as he could manage. He kept this from Sirius, Peter, and James, as it was the last time Remus would be afforded time to sleep in until Christmas break and he wanted to cherish it.

This, apparently, was a mistake. 

He didn’t look at the clock the first time his mobile buzzed, or the second. The third time, he cracked one eye open, flipped the phone up to see the three missed calls from Sirius at—Remus groaned. 9:30, 9:45, and the most recent at 10:00. It was now 10:05 and, as Remus watched with dread, Sirius’ name popped up as the phone started to buzz again.

“You better be dying,” Remus said, to which Sirius responded with a hearty  _ good morning _ and then:

“I suppose we’re all dying, yeah?”

“I swear you better be actively bleeding out or that will be changing in the very near future for you.”

“There’s the hostility I know and love. Be ready in 10 minutes.”

“For  _ what _ ?”

“Bingo,” Sirius said solemnly. “Bring a cardigan.”

The phone call ended abruptly, leaving Remus with several questions, but, for reasons he wasn’t even sure he could name, he got up and started to dress.

Eight minutes later, Remus was sitting in the back of Sirius’ car behind a bleary-eyed James and next to Peter, who was nearly finished with the book he’d been reading the night they’d been formally introduced.

“Sir Philip Sidney?” Remus asked.

“Bloody bastard,” Peter said, with more affection than Remus felt the sentiment warranted.

“He was a… poet, right?”

“Most of them were,” Peter said. “Or did both.”

“Oy, you’ve done it now,” Sirius said. “Don’t give me help me eyes in the mirror. You have brought this upon yourself.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Lots of sonnets. This is his collected sonnets, so, you know. Poetry.”

“Peter knows all of Shakespeare’s sonnets by heart,” James said from the passenger seat.

“I don’t know all of them--”

“You know a lot of them,” Sirius said, turning left. 

“Okay, Peter and Shakespeare aside--”

“Thank you,” Peter muttered, and went back to his book.

“--what are we doing?”

“Bingo,” Sirius said. “I thought we talked about this. Listen, Remus, I can’t keep repeating myself--”

“I’ve literally been awake 15 minutes.  _ Bingo _ ?”

“Sirius has his… ladies,” Peter offered.

“Just because they like me better than you--”

“Ethel likes me best.”

“Ethel can’t remember where she left her teeth, that isn’t a huge--”

“ _ Leave Ethel and her teeth alone _ .”

“I’m going to laugh when Ethel takes a liking to Remus over you,” Sirius told Peter with a sniff.

“Impossible. He’s too tall for her taste.”

“You’ve talked about her  _ taste _ , Peter?”

“No! She just--she likes that I’m--”

“Travel-sized?” James suggested from the passenger seat.

Peter sighed. “That’s not—”

“Bite-sized, wasn’t it, James?”

“Fun sized?”

“Just because—”

“I have my own biddy-brigade, Pete, I don’t need to infringe on yours,” Sirius said. “Lone member that it has. Anyway, Remus, we go play bingo at the local rest home every Sunday. Since you’ve been integrated into the fold--”

“Willing or not, it seems,” Remus muttered under his breath.

“--you’re invited along to form your very  _ own _ biddy-brigade.”

“Uh--no offense--”

“None taken,” Sirius interrupted cheerfully.

“But why?”

“Why are you invited along? I thought we’d been over this. You’re our  _ friend _ now, Remus, that means--”

“No, why do you even have a….  _ Biddy-brigade _ ?”

“Old women like to be around younger men?”

“Uh, gross?”

“It was part of community service,” James offered sleepily. “We had a bit of a run-in our sophomore year with--”

“It was just a prank,” Sirius said, turning into the parking lot.

“Yeah, but it--got a little out of control. Peter’s a fucking savage.”

“That was not all me.”

“It was mostly you.”

“It was  _ not _ \--”

“Anyway,” Sirius interrupted, “we had to do some community service, so we volunteered at the rest home, and started playing bingo and…”

“You played bingo as part of your community service?”

“We take turns calling the numbers,” Sirius said. “These ladies get cutthroat. Did you bring a cardigan?”

“Uh--”

“The instructions  _ specifically _ said to bring a cardigan!”

“I--”

“God, Bertha’s going to have a conniption.”

“Sorry, Bertha?”

“You’ll see.”

(*)

Remus did, indeed, see. Bertha, as it turned out, was the oldest resident of the rest home, and spend most of her time fussing over the four boys, fretting that they weren’t dressed appropriately. 

Bertha’s fretting was nothing compared to the cutthroat ways of the ladies of the rest home who played Bingo. Remus had had the expectation of sweet old ladies slowly poking buttons across the placard, but the reality was, in fact, much different.

Sandwiched between Bertha and Hazel, a brazen American woman who told Remus her entire life story in between shouting at James (who had drawn the proverbial short straw) to  _ speak up, young man _ and trash talking her biggest competition--a scowling woman with a moustache who was part of James’ biddy-brigade named Elaine.

“Blinder than my third husband Edgar,” Hazel said, in what Remus assumed was supposed to be under her breath, but that was actually quite loud.

“Er--that’s--”

“Speak  _ up _ , boy!” she barked at James, and Remus flinched.

Remus had never felt particularly threatened by the more advanced portion of the population, but that changed when James called O-71 and Morag (who was certainly the most aggressive old women Remus had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and also part of Sirius’ biddy-brigade) smacked her frail hand on the table, stood up (an outstanding feat for such a frail-looking woman), pointed a crooked finger at James and, in the thickest Scottish accent Remus had ever heard, demanded he call it again, but that this time he call it  _ correctly _ , since she’d clearly misheard; surely he hadn’t called O71 when she’d been waiting on O70 the entire game, had he?

James stuttered something about he wasn’t trying to sabotage anything, and the staff came to collect Morag, as she refused to back down, effectively ending the game.

Hazel shook her head. “Miserable old hag,” she said and Remus wasn’t sure, for a moment, if he should respond, but Hazel seemend content with him having heard it, so he kept quiet. 

Morag had been sternly lectured regarding appropriate Bingo behavior, and, after assuring and reassuring Bertha that they would not, in fact, freeze to death on August 31st without a cardigan, they were free to leave.

(*)

On their way home, James and Peter sat in the back, leaving Remus and Sirius in the front. James and Peter were involved in a heated debate about who would win in showdown between the Hulk and Optimus Prime.

“Hulk can’t control his transformations,” Peter said, and James snorted.

“Yes, he can, remember? ‘That’s my secret, I’m always angry’--c’mon, Pete, you can’t honestly think my lord and savior Captain America would jeopardize the team like that, letting someone who can’t possibly control himself around the people who he holds most dear? Optimus Prime on the other hand--”

Sirius seemed content to listen, only turning to Remus when Peter spluttered in disbelief.

“Reckon I’ll never get old.”

“Don’t think that’s much of an option,” Remus said and Sirius laughed.

“Course it is. People always assume you gotta--do the whole  _ grow old happily _ thing, but nobody ever thinks about being cooped up in a home for the rest of their lives. I’m not opposed to the grow old happily thing, but I’ll be damned if they’ll put me in a home.”

Remus had a fleeting vision of an elderly Sirius standing in protest at Bingo, shouting at the caller.

“Er--”

“You know I’m right. Most of the population does, that’s why we were able to get away with letting that be our community service. Sure, everyone tries to paint it nice, but--” Sirius shook his head. “That’s not a happily ever after.”

“Thought that was trendy now,” Remus said and Sirius frowned at him. “You know, fiction writing and all. Never let your characters be happy? Bucking the happy trend?”

Sirius laughed. “Fiction and real life seldomly coincide.”

“How very Wolfe of you.”

“I’ll take that compliment.” Sirius turned towards his flat, and they rode in silence for a moment, listening to James and Peter, who had moved on to debating the merits of Captain America and Iron Man.

Peter had just declared that Iron Man represented the tragic dichotomy between man and society, man and nature, and man and man when Sirius rolled his eyes and turned to Remus again as they pulled into Remus’ building’s parking lot. 

“Ready for tomorrow?”

“Ah--no. I mean, yes, but also--no.”

“Ready, but not  _ ready _ .”

Remus nodded.

“Me too.” Sirius paused. “Pick you up at 8?”

“You don’t have to--”

“See you at eight.”

(*)

This meant that Remus set his alarm for six, and then spent the better part of an hour (after a shower), carrying around a cup of tea and frowning at his clothing choices.

Slughorn had said they were to be professional—nothing with rips or holes, and preferably clean. But he also hadn’t put any more restrictions on them aside from those. Generally clean and nothing ripped eliminated some of Remus’ wardrobe, but not enough to definitively sort out what he was to wear to teach in. 

In the end, he settled on a pair of brown trousers and white dress shirt. He forwent the tie and settled instead for a brown and maroon sweater vest.

Sirius burst into laughter the second he saw him. Sirius, Remus noted, was dressed in jeans and a band t-shirt. He was also wearing a leather jacket and his hair he had tied back. He looked like the cool version of an English professor—like he’d show up to class with a motorcycle helmet dangling from his fingertips, and be unafraid to say “fuck it” to a classroom full of freshmen.

“You look like a 60’s time capsule,” he said. Remus made a noise in protest.

“I do not look like—”

“You do. I mean, okay, but you do.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Remus sniffed, settling into the passenger seat.

James and Peter seemed to agree with Sirius—James especially, who greeted Remus with a  _ Ah, good morning, Professor Lupin _ , which Remus knew was not a compliment. 

Peter told Remus he looked  _ very professorly _ , which Remus didn’t take as a compliment, either, and by the time he’d settled in at his desk (that he shared with Sirius), he was ready to strip down to his white undershirt and teach in that.

It was Marlene who saved him. She came by just before her first class, and leaned her hip against his desk. “You look nice,” she said—the first true compliment Remus had gotten.

“Thanks.”

“Very—professorly.”

Remus winced. “Thanks.”

Marlene offered him a bright smile and gathered her syllabi to her chest.

“Good luck!”

“Yeah, you as well.”

Peter offered Marlene a fist bump, which she returned on her way out the door.

They were, Remus noted, magnetic, the three of them. They drew people in—Peter’s fist bump was offered to each person who left to go teach the young minds of the future (James’ words) who wandered by the cluster of desks. Sirius took to offering lines pulled randomly from a book of “inspirational quotes” James’ Mother had apparently provided. At a quarter til 9, James started to pack his stuff up, and Sirius beamed.

“Dreams and dedication are a powerful combination,” he told James somberly. 

“To live is the rarest thing in the world,” James returned, just as serious. “Most people only exist.” He gathered his syllabi and returned Peter’s fist bump.

“Live long and prosper,” Peter offered.

“---close enough.”

James offered Remus a wave and left.

By some happenstance, Sirius and Remus taught at the same time, one room down from each other.

Remus slipped his syllabi into his bag, and Sirius gathered them up in his arms.

“Ready to change the world?” he asked, and Remus snorted.

Peter offered them dual fist bumps and they left together.

“What’s with the fist bumps?” Remus asked.

“If you have to ask about Pete’s actions,” Sirius said, holding the door for Remus as they headed down the stairwell, “the answer is probably a dick joke.”

“How is a fist bump a dick--”

“I’m sure it makes sense in his head.”

“Er--right.”

“Nah, he started giving out fist bumps the first year we were here as undergrads. Guess it just stuck. We all had 8ams, and Pete, the lucky bastard, didn’t start til noon, but he’d get up, or still be up, and offer us all fist bumps as we walked out the door, ten til.” He paused outside his classroom. “Good--good luck, then.”

“Oh--er--thanks.” Remus felt the sudden urge to shake Sirius’ hand. He settled for a fist bump.

Sirius chuckled and returned it. “Don’t tell Pete.” That was all he said before he walked into the classroom, leaving Remus alone in the hallway.

Remus felt a bit as though he’d missed a step going down stairs and stood there a moment before disappearing into his own classroom, coming face to face with 20-odd entry-level writing students.

“Good morning,” he greeted. Nobody replied and he sighed. “I’m Remus--Remus Lupin. Welcome to Writing I.”


	4. In Which Remus is Privy to Peter's Savagery, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus survives his first day of teaching, learns a little about his new friends, and makes plans with Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as ever, to the love of my life, itsnotlove.

Remus didn’t remember a whole lot from his first day of teaching. What he did remember was walking into the office after teaching his second (and final) class.

Remus was not the type to believe in love at first sight, and anyway, he’d already had his sights set on Sirius (intentionally or not), and they’d already known each other for—Remus counted quickly in his head—3 weeks. So to say that Remus fell in love with Sirius the moment he walked into the office would be a lie, but only in the telling—after his second class, Remus walked into the Graduate Assistant office, cringing just a little at the bloodstain just inside the door, and froze. There, sitting at the cluster of desks Peter, James, Sirius, and, in theory, Remus, had claimed, were Sirius and James. Sirius sat facing the door, legs kicked up on the desk and crossed at the ankle, and a paperback (a well-loved paperback) in one hand, the other absently twirling his hair. James held a similar position, but Remus took little notice of that (James was straight, or in a relationship if he wasn’t, so it didn’t matter what James was doing), because Sirius literally held all of Remus’ available attention.

Apparently he’d been standing there just a beat too long, because Peter (who Remus hadn’t noticed, because he’d been hunkered down behind the third desk, or at least that was what Remus was telling himself) looked up.

“Sorry, Remus, I’m just finishing this email and then I’ll be out of the way,” he said, “I’ve got Flitwick’s class to get to, but—”

“You need a desk?” Sirius asked, starting to sit up. “I’m just dicking around—”

“No, no, I’m leaving, Pads, honestly.”

True to his word, Peter was logging out of the computer and gathering his books.

“First day go alright?” he asked Remus, and it took Remus a beat too long to reply—he turned red and readjusted his bag.

“Oh—er—yeah, I suppose. Don’t really remember it.”

“I tried to make a joke,” Peter said, a bit forlornly. “Didn’t go over all that well.”

“You talk too fast,” Sirius said, without looking up. “I walked past your room a couple times and you sounded like a bloody—cocaine addict.”

“For all you know I am,” Peter sniffed.

“You aren’t nearly that badass,” Sirius replied. “Now Remus—Remus I could see pulling off a cocaine habit.”

“All writers do cocaine,” Peter argued. “It’s  _ expected _ that you and Remus have drug habits.”

“I don’t have—” Remus started, but Sirius interrupted.

“The question at hand isn’t who  _ does _ have a cocaine habit, it’s who can pull one off.”

“Maybe I am and you just don’t know it,” Peter said stubbornly.

“Bollocks. Everyone knows lit folk are the ecstasy type.”

“Maybe I do both.”

“Wormy, if you do cocaine and ecstasy—”

“You’re going to be late to Flitwick’s class,” James interrupted.

Peter glanced at the clock, groaned, and rushed out, but not before sticking his head around the doorframe.

“I’d say lit people are more marijuana—”

“Marijuana is English Department-wide,” Sirius replied. “Gateway drug.”

“I don’t—” Remus started again, but Peter vanished down the hallway, and Sirius went back to his paperback.

Remus settled with settling into the desk. While the computer loaded, he peered over at Sirius. 

“What’re you reading?”

“A disgrace,” James replied before Sirius could answer.

“It’s not a disgrace, it’s research,” Sirius said, holding the book up so Remus could see the title.

_ Fifty Shades Freed _ . 

“Is that—”

“You bet your shag carpet-themed sweater vest it is,” Sirius said, a bit smugly.

“Filth,” James said.

“Absolutely.”

“Then why—” Remus started, but Sirius held up a finger.

“For the lulz, Remus.”

“What are you, 12?”

“No, and I’m offended you asked.”

James sighed and set his own paperback down—a Stephen King, Remus noted. “Sirius is under the impression—”

“We learn from mistakes, Remus,” Sirius said.

“And…. _ Fifty Shades  _ is—”

“A  _ colossal _ mistake, yes. It’s also a  _ multi-million dollar _ mistake. D’you know how much that horny old bird  _ made _ off of poorly written, poorly disguised fanfic?”

“Are you—”

“Serious? Yes. Also, she made a  _ boatload _ Remus, so you know what I’m gonna do?”

“You’re gonna… write… poorly written, poorly disguised fanfic?”

“I’m gonna write poorly written, poorly disguised fanfic, make a million bucks, then spend my time terrorizing writing students,” Sirius said, finger gunning at Remus.

Remus sighed. “So, if you already know the route E. L. James took to her...dubious fame and fortune, then…”

“I’m invested, Remus, I can’t quit now. I have to know the—the happily ever after.”

“I can—”

“Wait,” James said, setting his King novel down again.  _ Pet Sematary _ , Remus noted this time. “ _ Wait _ .  _ You’ve _ read it too?”

“I mean—”

“What is it with this book? Lily—”

“Just because your two—now three—friends and your demon of a girlfriend—”

“You used  _ demon _ last week, you need new material,” James interjected. 

“ _ Just because _ four of the four people you’re lucky enough to call friends have appreciated the inane smutty goodness that is the  _ Fifty Shades  _ franchise, doesn’t mean anything, other than you need to widen your circle of friends.”

“I have more than four friends,” James replied, going back to  _ Pet Sematary _ .

“That’s what we want you to think, Prongs, you lovable, gullible soul.”

James snorted, but didn’t have a comment beyond that.

Remus clicked into his email. Sirius, apparently no longer in the mood for poorly written, poorly disguised fanfic, closed the book and sat up, booting up his own computer.

“Why do you call him that?”

“A lovable, gullible soul? Because he’s a lovable, gullible—”

“No, Prongs.”

“Incident with a fork, first year of undergrad, in the dorms.”

“Incident—”

“Yeah, that’s pretty tame, when compared to Pete’s. Man’s a savage.”

“You’ve said,” Remus said. “He doesn’t strike me—”

“That’s his super power, Remus. It’s always the quiet ones. Get a couple shots in him? It’s not just drunk recitations of Shakespeare.”

“Though those alone are worth a friendship with Peter,” James chimed in. “Pads, remember the time he did the monologue from  _ Hamlet _ using that fucking cat Andy kept under her bed as a skull?”

“A cat—?” Remus started, but Sirius waved him off.

“Not a real one. Well, I mean it was real at one time, but it was way dead and way stuffed when Pete—used it for nefarious purposes.”

“I’d hardly call  _ Hamlet _ nefarious…” Remus started, but Sirius shook his head.

“Prongs forgot to mention Pete was starkers, with the cat—”

“I thought that was the time he did the  _ Romeo and Juliet _ sequence,” James said and Sirius shook his head.

“No, Prongs, why would he need Andy’s demon memorial for  _ Romeo and Juliet _ ?”

“I don’t know, Pads, do I look like I keep a prop list for the completed works of William Shakespeare in my back pocket?”

“I dunno, mate, your howler monkey of a girlfriend teaches secondary English now— _ Romeo and Juliet  _ is prime secondary English fodder.”

“Howler monkeys aren’t mythical, Pads.”

“How do you know? Ever seen one?”

“No, but—”

“They have them at the zoo,” Remus offered and Sirius turned to glare at him. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

“They do!”

“Have  _ you _ been to the zoo  _ and seen a howler monkey _ ?”

“Well I—”

“Yes or no question.”

“Yes, I’ve been to the zoo, but I’ve never—”

“I refuse to accept that howler monkeys exist,” Sirius said. “They are mythical, and Lily Evans is a member of their ranks.”

“Do you realize—”

“Artistic license,” Sirius said, and James snorted. “Anyway, when Worms gets out of class, we should go for drinks, yeah? Celebrate a first day well—gone and all that?”

“I’ll text Lily.”

Sirius sighed. “She’ll want to bring Mary, and then Pete’ll refuse to drink and he’ll be all awkward—”

James seemed to weigh his options for a moment.

“Besides, we’ve talked Worms up—we’d better show Remus what he can really do.”

“—fine,” James conceded. “But you’re buying the first round.”

(*)

Sirius did buy the first round, and the second.

Remus was able to justify three more rounds on his own, and by his fifth pint, he was feeling it. So, it seemed, was Peter.

“D’you know,” he said, shifting in his seat. James and Sirius exchanged a look, like  _ here it comes _ . “D’you know how many dick jokes Shakespeare makes?”

“Aw, c’mon Pete, that’s a bit tame for you,” Sirius said.

Peter arched an eyebrow at Sirius and turned to Remus. “D’you know?”

“I don’t,” Remus admitted, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“ _ Nobody _ knows, Wormtail.”

“Nob-- _ Nobody _ knows,” Peter echoed. “I want--to teach a class just on Shakespeare’s dick jokes.”

“Is that--is that where Wormtail comes from?” Remus asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Partially,” Peter replied, and drained his glass. “‘S’kinda a dick joke.  _ Wormtail _ like--y’know.” He giggled and leaned back, motioning for another drink. “Y’know,  _ Romeo and Juliet _ \--it’s--whatever. Like, eh,” he shrugged, like the sentence he’d just presented made any sense. “Me, I prefer--uh, other stuff.  _ Midsummer Night’s Dream _ ’s probably my favorite, but--besides the point.” He paused to take a drink of the fresh pint he’d been brought.

James took this opportunity to lean across the table conspiratorially. “It’s okay, we don’t know what the point is, either,” he confided.

“ _ Romeo ‘n’ Juliet _ is whatever, right, like, it’s not--it’s whatever. Point is-- _ the dick jokes _ are pretty stellar, ‘specially in a  _ tragedy _ about--about ‘ Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean,’” Peter recited flawlessly and then took another deep drink, before going right back into a perfect recitation of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ . 

Peter got to the part where Benvolio and Tybalt dueled and tried to climb on the table to fight Sirius when James suggested they call it a night.

Remus was inclined to agree with James, especially considering Peter had taken to howling “hold me not, let me go” at the top of his lungs. This found the four of them sitting on the floor of Sirius and James’ flat, Peter having progressed past  _ violent drunk _ into  _ sleepy drunk _ , eventually curling up on the couch and passing out. James had taken that as his cue to wander back to his bedroom and curl up in his bed. This left Remus and Sirius sitting across from each other in the living room, and Sirius stood with a grunt. Remus started to get up as well and Sirius offered him a hand, which Remus accepted.

“You smoke?” Sirius asked, patting his pockets and producing a pack of cigarettes.

“Er--not recently,” Remus said. Sirius chuckled and motioned for Remus to follow him out to the balcony, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Sirius draped himself across one of the deck chairs and lit his cigarette, tossing the pack and the lighter on the table with a wave of his hand, indicating that Remus was free to help himself if he so desired.

Remus did not desire, so he sat in the other chair and took advantage of the situation to indulge a bit, and watch Sirius, who appeared to be content to sit and smoke.

“How’d you meet them?” he asked finally.

Sirius blew a long stream of smoke and shrugged a shoulder. “Ah, James and I went to boarding school together. Roommates, the whole--” he gestured with his hand, “bit. Caused all sorts of problems, yeah? Then, at uni, we met Peter. Fuck-up with housing, right? So James and I were supposed to share a dorm, but ended up--well,” he adjusted himself in his seat. “How much d’you know about the housing system at school?”

“Not much,” Remus admitted. “I commuted for undergrad, and I didn’t go here.”

Sirius nodded and took a deep drag off his cigarette before setting it carefully in the ashtray, leaning forward. “Look, so, you’ve got--you’ve got like three rooms off of one main room, right? So you’ve got, like, six boys sharing a dorm room, right?”

“Er--sure.”

“Right. So they all share a kitchen and sitting room and all that, but they’ve got three rooms, and it’s two boys apiece per room.”

“Right.”

“So James and I were supposed to be in the same room, but something got fucked, and James ended up in a room with Pete, and I ended up with this mad fucker named Barty. Same dorm room, just--different bedrooms, I guess.” He picked up his cigarette again and shrugged. “Barty was--ended up getting expelled, but that was a wild couple years.” He took a drag. “We moved out three years in, got this flat, the whole bit.”

“Peter didn’t want to live with you?”

“Pete moved in with his mum.” Sirius didn’t elaborate and Remus got the sense that this wasn’t something to joke about. “Stays here a lot, though, might as well pay rent, the bastard.” This was said with affection and Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, the three of us met, and…” Sirius shrugged a shoulder. “Then James met the she-devil.”

“Lily.”

“If that is her real name.”

Remus chuckled. “You’re going to have to tell me what that’s about sometime.”

Sirius shrugged. “Not really about anything, just...I dunno, it was me and James and then Pete joined and that was fine, but...James and I were in a lit class together--uh, Post-Colonial Lit, I think, with that fucker Binns which is--god, avoid taking Binns if you can, alright? Anyway, three hour night class, which is fucking murder, we walk in, and James sees--Rosemary sitting there, spends the whole class writing her shitty love poetry. They’ll get married, I s’pose.”

“Rosemary…?”

“As in, the mother of Satan’s spawn,” Sirius explained. “If you call her by her name, she appears in your closet that night and murders you.”

“Guessing there’s no love lost between you and--and James’ girlfriend.”

“That was weak, but we’ll let it slide,” Sirius said, finishing his cigarette and snubbing it out. “And--as long as you don’t look her in the eyes, she’s fine.” He chuckled and toyed with the pack of cigarettes. “Nah, she’s--it’s fine. We have… an understanding.”

“An understanding.”

“I get James on weeknights, including every other Friday. She gets weekends, excepting Bingo Sundays.”

“You have a custody arrangement with James’ girlfriend.”

“A casual one, but yes. Elsewise, people get jealous, and while green is very flattering for Frankenstein’s monster, it’s not my color.”

Remus chuckled. “Lily is Frankenstein’s monster, I assume.”

“Don’t say her name,” Sirius warned. “And yes, I suppose. Not my best work, but it’ll do.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Remus watched traffic and Sirius lit another cigarette.

“So what made you want to study short fiction?” Remus asked finally.

“I’ve never wanted to do anything else.”

Remus snorted, and Sirius smiled indulgently.

“I know, stock answer. I… I was supposed to do something else, but, like all writers… I dunno. Nothing’s ever meant as much to me as… as writing. And I was a shitty poet, right? So. Short fiction.” Sirius took a drag off of his cigarette. “Never been really good at anything else.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I’m sure it is.” Sirius grinned. “Nah, it’s not--it’s not about, like self-deprecation, right? More about… I dunno, noticing where you have talent and where you don’t. I’m balls at anything but writing.”

“Hence the multi-million dollar plan re: smutty fanfic.”

Sirius toasted Remus with his cigarette and sat up. “Hence, indeed. I gotta take a piss.”

Sirius left Remus sitting on the balcony with the slowly smoldering cigarette and the sounds of the city at--Remus glanced at his watch. Half midnight. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back through the balcony doors to see Peter roll over on the couch and keep sleeping. It occurred to him that it was Monday night (or rather, Tuesday morning), and that he (and, very likely, the other three) had classes or something tomorrow.

Sirius returned with two bottles of beer, offering one to Remus and settling back down in his chair.

“Sirius, haven’t we--I mean, haven’t you got class tomorrow?”

“Eh, yes, I s’pose. Not til 2, though. You?”

“Four.”

“Excellent. Pete, the poor arse, he’s got a 10am with Binns. Dunno if James’s got anything, but the Sasquatch’ll keep him in line.”

Remus chuckled and took a sip of his beer.

“So, why poetry?”

“Same’s you, I reckon. Wasn’t any good at anything else, and I can’t plot to save myself.”

Sirius chuckled. “Hence, poetry.”

Remus hummed in agreement and took another drink of his beer. 

“You meet Marlene?”

“Yeah, she’s--she’s nice.”

“Yeah  _ nice _ .” There was a bitterness in Sirius’ voice that Remus wanted to ask about, but something in the set of Sirius’ shoulders said he shouldn’t. He let it drop.

“Listen, Sirius.” Remus wasn’t sure if it was the hour or the beer talking, but he cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Listen, we ought to go to the zoo.”

“Is this about the howler monkeys?”

“A bit, but--also, we should go to the zoo.”

Sirius shot Remus a suspicious look and took a drink of his beer and a drag off of his cigarette.

“What about your ankle?”

“It’s fine. Barely even hurts anymore. I get the boot off in four weeks.”

“Then we’ll go to the zoo in four weeks.”

“I--”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“--- _ fine _ .”

Sirius smirked. Remus felt something in his stomach twist and he looked away, under the pretense of watching a car drive slowly across the parking lot.

It was a bit before either of them spoke again. At one, Remus glanced at his watch and rubbed the back of his neck. “I should go.”

“You can stay here,” Sirius said. “We’ve got an air mattress, or we can kick Pete off the couch. He bounces. James and I checked.”

“There’s a story there, and I already feel bad for Peter.”

“You shouldn’t. Trust me. At least not for that. Pete’s--”

“A savage. You’ve said.”

“You think I’m joking, but he was tame tonight. Too much too fast. He’s better when you can pace him. Next Friday night I get custody I’ll show you. You gotta do beer, beer, then three shots, then make him drink water or eat something---James and I’ve perfected it.”

Remus grinned. “I’d hate to see what happens if you try to perfect a formula for me.”

“I bet you’re a kinky son of a bitch,” Sirius offered, and Remus choked on the sip he’d taken of his beer.

“We’ll see. I’ve just decided. End of the first week party, at our flat. James’n I’ll host. You’d better be there.”

“Ah--”

“No excuses, you’ve brought this upon yourself. Now, you can stay here, or I can call you a cab, which’ll it be?”


	5. In Which Remus Eavesdrops and Stays Over

****

Remus ended up staying there, as he could have scrounged for cab fare, but an air mattress did him well enough, and if he was desperate, he had time to go home and take a quick nap before his class, anyway.

He woke to the sound of someone—two someones—arguing in the kitchen.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Then you’re having your breakfast dry, because I’m not making you another cup.”

“Why are you making me a cup at all? You haven’t got class til—what, noon?”

“Lily wanted a ride to school.”

“Don’t let Pads hear you say that.”

“Say what, that I gave my girlfriend a ride to school?”

“That you got up early for it.”

“I get up early for Pads, on occasion.”

“To give him a ride to school?”

“We go to the same place, that’s not even—why’re you giving me the fifth degree anyway?”

“Third.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the third degree, not the fifth.”

“You’re a fucking nerd. D’you want the tea or not?”

“—yeah, alright.”

There was a moment of silence, and Remus rolled over slowly, trying not to make any noise on the borrowed air mattress. He was moderately successful and then:

“How’s your Mum, then?” James (Remus had identified) asked.

“Oh—ah, alright I suppose.” Peter, Remus was 99% sure. “She’s got the live-in with her there now. Suppose I ought to call, she’ll start to worry.”

“Can’t have that.”

“No, that would be...that would be bad.” There was something in Peter’s voice that made Remus feel distinctly voyeuristic; something raw and strangely intimate. Peter was clearly trying to play off something that wasn’t meant to be played off, or that hurt just a bit too much to play off.

There was a pause, and then one of them cleared their throat.

“Right, finish up here and I’ll take you in. I’ve got to take Lily lunch—she’s texted me she’s forgotten it, bless her, so I’ve got to leave a bit early anyway. May as well drop you off.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I’m not hanging around waiting for you, so grab your things. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Peter replied, but it was too quiet for Remus to hear, and then there were dishes clanking in the kitchen and the scraping of chairs, and Remus had to quickly pretend to be asleep as Peter came back into the living room and (by the sound of it) shouldered his bag.

He was muttering quietly to himself—nothing that Remus could make out, but enough that Remus felt justified in starting to stir a bit.

James, on the other hand, came into the living room quite loudly, announcing his presence with  _ I’ve packed Lily lunch, a snack, and something for tea, think that’ll hold her _ ? so Remus felt no shame or guilt in rolling over and sitting up sleepily, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Morning,” James greeted him cheerfully. “I’ve just taken the kettle off, but I can put it back on—”

Remus waved him off, clambering awkwardly off of the air mattress, examining the walking boot he’d forgotten to take off.

“Right, Pete and I are off. Have a good day, then.”

Remus offered Peter and James fist bumps, which were returned enthusiastically, and then wandered down the hall in search of the bathroom.

“My god, they’re louder than a pack of fu—Remus?” Sirius’ voice echoed past the bathroom, and then back down the hallway.

“Sorry, just—” Remus finished his business and opened the door. “Good morning.”

“And a good morning to you,” Sirius replied. “Sleep alright, then?”

“Yes, fine,” Remus replied, already feeling guilty for the conversation he’d overheard. He wanted to ask Sirius, but he wasn’t sure Sirius would tell him.

“I’ll put the kettle on. We can run you back to yours to change before class if you’d like.”

“I thought the 60’s time capsule look was working for me. At least 5 people described it as professorly.”

“They were lying, Remus. Lying straight to your face, the bastards.” Sirius indicated that Remus should have a seat, and he fixed them both a cup of tea, which gave Remus the opportunity to take Sirius in in another one of his incarnations.

It was clear he hadn’t been up any longer than Remus, but that he was, by most standard definitions, a morning person, or at least, the type of person who didn’t mind mornings, and was able to be awake and alert immediately upon awakening, which was something Remus had tried and failed to attain.

He was also quite tall, Remus noticed, as Sirius reached for various things needed in the making of tea. Remus himself was not short, but he was a good few inches shorter than Sirius, who hummed tunelessly to himself as he waited for water to boil. He really was unfairly attractive, Remus thought.

After their tea and Sirius’ shower, they headed off to Remus’ flat.

“I’ve never been inside your building before,” Sirius remarked with what Remus thought was a bit too much enthusiasm.

“We’ve known each other just shy of four weeks, that’s not an anomaly,” Remus said.

“Know what is an anomaly, Remus?”

“What’s that?” Remus asked, distracted as he dug through his messenger bag for his keys, finally producing them after much effort.

“Your fucking doormat. What is that, a  _ dog _ ?”

Remus flushed. He’d forgotten about the mat.

“D’you have a  _ dog _ , Remus?”

“What? No, I don’t—look. My mum’s got—a weird sense of humor. She—that was her housewarming gift.”

He unlocked the door and scowled down at the mat that read ‘wipe your paws’ in cheery calligraphy.

“It’s charming,” Sirius said with a grin. “If a bit misleading.”

“Yeah, well. I’m full of disappointments, I suppose.” He tossed his keys in the bowl by the door and gestured to the wide expanse of his living room. “Make yourself at home—” he started, but Sirius had already done just that, flopping on Remus’ couch and grinning up at him.

“I’ll forgive the absence of a dog in return for exclusive crash-rights to your sofa.”

“--Sure, all yours.”

Thirty minutes later, Remus was freshly showered and changed. He walked out to the living room where he’d left Sirius to find Sirius snooping through the drawers in his kitchen.

“Am I interrupting?” Remus asked drily. Sirius looked up, and, to his credit, looked the  _ slightest _ bit guilty for a moment.

“I’m looking for sweets,” he explained. “Still trying to prove my hypothesis from the first day.”

“What hypothesis?” Remus asked, walking into the kitchen proper with a frown.

“That you’re the type of bloke to carry sweets on you at all times.” Sirius yanked open the drawer just under where Remus kept his cutlery and let out a triumphant yell. “I  _ knew _ it!”

Remus winced. “Look, just because you’ve found--”

“Remus, you can’t explain this away. This is pornographic-levels of chocolate.”

“I’m not sure that’s the entirely accurate use of that word--”

“Obscene, then,  _ Lily _ . Honestly ‘I’m not sure that’s the entirely accurate use--’ but seriously, Remus, if this were pornography, I’d think you were a sex addict.”

“Chocolate is better than sex,” Remus said before he could help himself.

“In your mind, clearly. This is truly extraordinary. I’m honestly speechless.”

“I’d never have guessed,” Remus said drily.

“Amazing,” he said softly. Remus was 99% sure that particular exclamation was not meant for his ears. He cleared his throat.

“Shall I leave you alone to… bask in the glory that is the chocolate drawer?”

“I’m not sure we have time for that--I have to be at class in an hour, and I’m going to need at least  _ two _ to appreciate the beauty that is….  _ this _ .”

“Well, we’ll have to come back later so you can--- bask in it some more, then, won’t we?”

Sirius sighed and reluctantly closed the drawer. “I’m holding you to that.” Sirius turned to Remus and brightened considerably. “Now  _ this _ is more like it,” he said. 

Remus frowned. “What d’you mean? What’s more—like it? What’s it?”

“According to James, one of the best horror stories ever written. He might be biased, the man’s in love with Stephen King, absolutely—”

“As charming as it is when you intentionally misconstrue my meaning—”

“ _ Hostile _ , Remus, you’re as bad as Peter when he gets going. I was talking about your outfit. Much better.”

“Yes, well, I can’t teach in this!”

“Says who?”

“Slughorn!”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen what he wears?”

“Er—”

“Obviously not. Look, the man wears a  _ velvet purple smoking jacket _ . I think you can get away with wearing a t-shirt dedicated to the fourth best band of all time.”

“Fourth best band? I beg your pardon--”

“Pardon granted.”

“I  _ beg your pardon _ , The Killers are at least the second best band  _ of all time _ .”

“Not true, but we’ll let it slide on account of the fact that you look less like you’ve got a ruler shoved up your--”

“Sirius, it’s so unprofessional, I can’t—”

“I teach in band shirts!”

“Yeah, well,  _ you _ can get away with it!”

Sirius smirked, smug, and then seemed to realize what Remus had really said. “What’s that mean?”

“You—you’re all—” Remus flapped his hands. Fuck it all, but he’d done it now, hadn’t he? “You’re all—broody. And -and—”

“ _ Broody _ ?” Sirius repeated. He wa grinning. Remus felt as though this was going to end very badly for him.

“I just mean—” His face was hot. Positively glowing, he was sure. “I mean you’re—you’ve got—you can pull off the-the devil-may-care—”

He was making it worse. This was evidenced by the growing grin on Sirius’ face. 

“Devil-may-care? Remus, do you think that I’m  _ devastatingly _ handsome?”

“What?! I—no, I just—I just mean—”

This was the worst thing that had ever happened. Somewhere, Remus had read that everyone would die several deaths. This, Remus figured, counted as at least 12 of them.

“Band t-shirts are devil-may-care?” Sirius asked, and Remus got the distinct impression that Sirius was mocking him, just a bit.

“It’s more—it’s more the hair, I suppose,” Remus said, “and the--overall… bad..assery.”

Sirius practically crowed. “ _ You _ think I’m a  _ badass _ !”

“I think you’re obnoxious,” Remus snapped, but the damage had been done.

“I’m telling James and Peter right now, immediately,” Sirius said, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Have you got your things for class? Right, let’s go.”


	6. In Which Remus and Sirius Discuss Methods of Lubrication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me a bit! It's been busy around here--trying to get ready for finals and the holidays. I appreciate your patience, and your time reading this.
> 
> itsnotlove is, as ever, nearest and dearest. Any mistakes are my own.

_ FROM: Black, Sirius O. _ __   
_ TO: ENG DEPT GRAD ASSISTANTS; Slughorn, Horace _ _   
_ __ CC: Potter, James F.

_ SUBJECT: Assemble _

_ Esteemed Colleagues, _

_ Another semester is upon us and, with the dawning of this new era, a celebration is in order. The details for the commemoration of a new, freshly christened crop of graduate assistants can be found below. Please make plans to attend, as anyone not in attendance will be required to bring a sacrificial Keurig to the office. _

_ You should make every effort to attend on Friday. Festivities will commence at 7pm sharp and continue into the wee hours of the morning. It’s at Sirius and James’ flat, and if you don’t know where that is, there’s a good reason. You should do some self-examination. _

_ Be there, squares. _

_ Eternally yours, _

_ Sirius & James _

(*)

Remus was balls deep in teaching college students rudimentary grammar when his phone buzzed. He ignored it, as he was literally in the middle of talking about comma splices, and it buzzed again. Again, he ignored it, only to look up and see Sirius with his face pressed against the glass pane of the doorway.

Remus jumped and forgot what he was saying. His students murmured and Remus cleared his throat, turning his attention away from Sirius and back to his powerpoint.

“And--to fix a comma splice it’s actually quite, uh--quite----”

He made the mistake of looking up at the door again. Sirius was now involved in a very exaggerated pantomime communicating either that he wanted Remus to look at his phone or that Sirius had gone blind.

“Ah--- fixing--fixing a comma splice requires only--only that you reread the sentence and add--uh--either an and or a bug--some kind of conjunction to prevent the two fragments---” He clicked to the next slide of his powerpoint. “You should take a moment to practice while I--take a moment to practice. Fix these sentences. You’ll turn this in for participation, so don’t forget your name.”

As his students reached into their bookbags, Remus took three large steps towards the door and jerked it open. Sirius beamed.

“Get my text? And my email?”

“What? No, Sirius, I’ve been--I  _ am _ teaching! I’ll check it when I’ve finished, what’re you--”

“You’re coming right?”

“Coming?”

“To the party!”

“ _ What _ party?”

“You haven’t checked your email.” Sirius clucked his tongue in disappointment. “Remus, Dr. McGonagall says the number one key to a successful graduate--”

“I’m teaching,” Remus snapped. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

“Deal with me?” Sirius repeated, with far too much delight for Remus’ liking. “Is that a pro---”

Remus shut the door in Sirius’ face and turned back to his classroom of students, who were all looking at him and not, as he had instructed, fixing the comma splices from the slide.

“Right, who’s got the answer to the first one?” he asked, ignoring the blush rising in his cheeks.

(*)

Sirius was up in the office when Remus returned from teaching, kicked back in his seat with his feet up on the desk, a paperback cradled in his lap. He was reading with a frown, but looked up when Remus’ shadow fell across the desk.

“Ah! Remus! Check your phone?”

Remus held up the offending device to show Sirius the notification screen which showed no less than six text messages (all with the same text “r u comin” which was not only vague and the poorest grammar Remus had ever seen from a native English speaker, but also mildly offensive), two emails, and one missed call.

“I’m revoking your crash-rights to my sofa.”

Sirius mouth dropped open. It would have been mildly comical if Remus hadn’t been so irritated.

“Remus you can’t--”

“I can. Especially under the circumstances.  _ This _ \--” Remus waved the offending phone for emphasis, “ _ this _ is crash-rights-revoking territory.”

“I was  _ concerned _ -”

“I was  _ teaching! _ You literally saw me teaching! You walked down to the classroom, pressed your face against the window  _ and saw me in the actual act of teaching _ \--”

“Kinky, Remus, I didn’t know you were into voye--”

“I’m  _ not _ , Sirius, I was--”

“Are you coming though?”

“Coming to  _ what _ ?!”

“The party!”

“What party?!”

“The party I emailed you about!”

It was at that moment Remus remembered what he’d decided about Sirius the first moment he met him. Briefly, Remus entertained the fantasy of decking Sirius as hard as he could manage but this would one, not likely deter Sirius and two, would probably lead to Sirius making some comment about Remus being feisty. Or worse.

Instead, Remus sighed as loudly as he could, and made a dramatic show of scrolling through his phone to pull up the email.

Sirius watched him with what Remus thought was undue attention and, once Remus had finished reading, arched both his eyebrows.

Dramatically, Remus clicked to the text messages portion of his phone and typed his response to Sirius.

Sirius beamed upon receiving Remus’ response (a curtly worded (as curt as a text message could be) “yes”) and then set his paperback down. Remus noted it was still a member of the  _ 50 Shades  _ franchise and almost made a comment, before remembering that he was supposed to be treating Sirius with cold civility.  Cold civility, Remus reasoned, did not include discussion of thinly disguised porny fanfiction.

“You’re going to see Pete’s savagery at work. I’m excited, Remus. Are you excited?”

“Thrilled, to be sure,” Remus replied drily. “Never looked forward more to anything in my entire life.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sirius said, missing Remus’ sarcasm, though Remus rather felt this was deliberate.

“You can ride with me after class, yeah?”

“I thought it didn’t start til—”

“Well, I’m going to need help picking alcohol, Remus, I can’t do that alone.”

“I—Er—”

“That’s the spirit,” Sirius replied cheerfully.

For a moment, Remus considered punching him, but reconsidered as a student walked in looking for Marlene.

(*)

“Remind me,” James said, storming into the office a few hours before they were due to leave on Friday, “why I thought that it would be a good idea--a brilliant idea, I think, is what I said, precisely, verbatim, if we’re going on technicalities, here--to take  _ War Literature _ with-- _ fucking _ \-- Moody.”

James tossed his book down on the desk, where it landed with a resounding  _ thud _ , shaking the desk a bit and knocking the Hulk action figure James had sitting next to his computer.

James grumbled under his breath and bent to pick the toy up off the floor, setting it back in its rightful place.

“I’m a bloody lunatic--I don’t even  _ need _ the fucking class, I just decided, I suppose, that I didn’t have enough  _ fucking torture _ in my life--”

“Surprising,” Sirius muttered under his breath, seemingly unphased by James’ distress, “considering what you’re dating.”

“--and so, consequently, decided to take  _ war literature _ with  _ mother fucking _ Alastor Moody, who is the maddest motherfucking fucker to ever grace this campus!”

James paused, presumably for air, and crossed his arms.

“Class go well, then?” Sirius asked as Peter walked in with his earbuds in.

James responded with a choice finger and Sirius smirked, reaching over to tug an earbud out of one of Peter’s ears.

Peter glared. Briefly, Remus felt a camaraderie with both James and Peter, and wondered if a friendship with Sirius was just a series of annoyances that, somehow, made him more endearing.

“Any specific request on alcohol, Pete?”

“Oh, I’m not drinking,” Peter replied, flipping through one of his books and tucking the earbud back into his ear.

“The usual, then,” Sirius said, undeterred. “Excellent. Come on then, Remus, let’s leave these two miserable twats to their suffering—we’ve got a party to prepare for.”

(*)

The amount of alcohol that Sirius invested in made Remus’ stomach hurt just looking at it. When he said something of the sort to Sirius, Sirius grinned.

“You don’t drink it all yourself, Remus.”

“—I know that, it’s just—how many people are you expecting?”

“All the GAs, if they know what’s good for them,” Sirius replied. “Plus the harpy and, as shocking as it is that she’s been able to form relationships outside of the soul-sucking kind, her friend Mary. They teach together. Pete’s a bit sweet on Mary, so we’ll have to get him nice and lubed up before they arrive.”

“Peter said he wasn’t drinking,” Remus said uncertainly.

“Peter always says he isn’t drinking,” Sirius replied with a wave of his hand. “The man’s got a resolve like butter.”

Remus frowned. “Is that really the metaphor you want to go with?”

“Sure. Pete melts when you put the heat on him. Not literally, of course—”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying,” Remus muttered. “I was quite worried Peter would  _ literally  _ melt under heat.”

“I mean, he would. Literal heat causes literal melting at high temperatures. But I’m speaking figuratively—Pete’s a savage, but peer pressure? nah, he’ll be nice and lubed up before Mary gets here, no problem.”

“Lubed—I’m not sure—maybe you oughtn’t mix those metaphors. Butter and lube?”

“Do you prefer margarine?” Sirius asked with a smile that made Remus nearly drop the bag he was holding.

“Ah—not-not the point. Butter as lube is—”

“D’you know, the ancient greeks used olive oil? Same difference I suppose.”

“You’ll get a nasty infection. Too much bacteria.”

“Remus, Remus, Remus,” Sirius said, unlocking the door with a shake of his head. “That’s why you  _ douche _ .”

Remus did drop the bags this time. Sirius had had him carry the food, so the only casualty was a jar of olives, which was a right pain in the arse to clean up, but wasn’t, considering, the worst thing that could happen.

Sirius shook his head. “Well, you’ve ruined the cheese plate, but under the circumstances, I suppose I can forgive you.”

“Under the circum— _ what circumstances?” _

“It’s me. I’m far too dashing.”

Remus flared red. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what you said, and you and I both know it. Now, let’s find a replacement for the cheese plate, come on.”

(*)

Despite Remus’ assertions to the contrary, Sirius insisted that a deconstructed chocolate fountain (read: chocolate chips in a saucepan) was a fine replacement for the cheese plate and the party preparation went on.

“They’re English grad students,” Sirius said with a wave of his hand. “They’ll love it. Deconstruction is one of the main things they like to talk about at parties. Makes them sound smart.”

“It’s  _ chocolate chips _ in a  _ saucepan _ , not the bloody—”

“Remus, the number one rule of being a grad student is to pretend you know what the fuck you’re talking about 98% of the time.  _ Do not _ ruin this for me. Besides, nobody comes to these for the food. It’s all about the alcohol. And Peter. Listen, I’m going to make Jell-O shots. Would you be a dove and grab me the vodka?”

(*)

Peter and James arrived an hour or so before the party was set to begin. Sirius bustled out of the kitchen, where Remus was laboriously stacking cupcakes, greeting them with a beer and a shot apiece.

Remus heard Peter start to protest, but Sirius shushed him. “Just the one to help you get in the mood, Pete.”

Apparently Peter took the shot with no fuss (Remus couldn’t see, as he was busy stacking cupcakes), and Sirius reappeared in the kitchen just in time to critique Remus’ cupcake stacking skills.

This was the fourth time this had happened. Remus was quickly losing patience. “I’ve not stopped you from intervening,” he said tightly. “If it’s not how you want it to look,  _ by all means _ . I’m not even sure why you wanted  _ a cupcake structure _ .”

He was being an arse. He could sense it, like a headache, creeping under his skin.

“—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve snapped.”

“James makes the best cupcakes,” Sirius said, like this was an explanation. “I’ll finish.”

“Sirius—”

“It’s fine. Go help in the living room.”

Even if Sirius hadn’t said it, Remus would have understood it as a dismissal from his tone alone.

He sighed and walked into the living room, where James and Peter were in the middle of moving the couch to the other side.

“I’ve been banished,” he offered by way of his explanation.

“Sirius takes his cupcakes very seriously,” Peter said, wincing as James stumbled, ramming the couch into Peter. “Why does it matter—”

“Some of them are edibles,” James interrupted.

Remus frowned. “I would hope all of them are edible, I—”

James shook his head and set his end of the couch down without warning. Peter cursed.

“Sorry Pete. Remus, they’re  _ edibles _ . Like, you know. Special butter?”

“Special—”

“They’ve got weed in them,” Peter said, scrambling over the couch. “Edibles.”

“—oh.”

“You’ve never had an edible before?” Peter asked, bemused. “Blimey. I thought everyone who studied English—especially poets—smoked.”

“I—it’s illegal.”

Peter waved a hand. “So’s going over the speed limit. Bet you do that.”

“Er—”

“If you try to tell me you don’t speed, I’m calling bullshit  _ right now _ .”

“No, it’s just—”

“It’s fine,” James said. “Nobody’s going to hold you down and force feed you.”

“Did someone say force feeding?” Sirius asked, emerging from the kitchen with four beers and a bottle of something—whiskey, maybe?

“Remus’s never gotten high,” Peter said. “Didn’t understand what the big deal with the cupcakes was.”

Sirius turned to Remus, incredulous. “You’ve—but you’re a poet!” He shifted to set the bottles down on the table, pulling an opener out of his back pocket. He opened the beers and handed one to each of them. “Wormy, did the Bard imbibe?”

“The Bard imbibed,” Peter confirmed, toasting Sirius with his beer and taking a long drink. 

“Yes, well, Shakespeare is hardly among my influences,” Remus said.

“Rude,” Peter muttered under his breath, and went back to his beer. 

“Not the point,” Sirius said. “Whether you note ol’ Willy Shakes as influential or not is irrelevant. Point is, the Poet to End All Poets smoked--we think. Right, Pete?”

Peter toasted Sirius with his beer again.

“Yes, well, I’m not  _ opposed _ to it,” Remus said stiffly. “It’s more--just not something I’m interested in.”

“Which we will respect,” James interjected. “Right, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged a shoulder, but he was smiling. He took a sip of his beer. “Alright, alright. Well, Mr. Pure and Perfect, how about a shot?” He opened the bottle of liquor that he’d brought. It was not, as Remus had previously thought, whiskey, but rather-- “Tequila!” Sirius said brightly. “James, Pete, still got your shot glasses?”

“No shots for me,” Peter tried but Sirius ignored him, pouring him a shot as James disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve glasses for Sirius and Remus.

“To--”

“To school. And the opportunities. To Dr. Slughorn,” James provided.

“Sap,” Sirius replied, but tapped his shotglass on the table and downed it.


	7. In Which Remus is Privy to Peter's Savagery, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions are made, Peter lives up to his reputation, and Sirius uses highly inappropriate language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe my life to itsnotlove.

It took a bit for everyone to trickle in. Remus hadn’t realized just how many GAs there were, and Lily had brought a few of her friends from work--the infamous Mary, who was pretty, Remus supposed, if he were into that sort of thing.

Sirius had been closely monitoring ‘The Peter Situation,’ so Remus stuck mostly with sipping his beer and people-watching, as James had busied himself doing what he called ‘hosting,’ which was mostly just bouncing around the room aggressively insisting people try his cupcakes. Remus himself had already fended him off at least three times by the time Marlene joined him on the couch.

He jumped and then chuckled, shifting as she draped an arm across his shoulders.

“Thought you were James.”

She smirked and took a sip of her drink. “How’s the semester treating you?” she asked. “Feel like I’ve not seen you--Sirius and his--” she broke off, taking another sip and pursing her lips, turning to him.

“First part of the semester’s been fine,” Remus said after a pause to ensure that Marlene wasn’t going to go on about Sirius. “Feel like I’ve hit a bit of a groove, which is. That’s good.”

Marlene nodded and took another sip of her drink. “Harder than I thought it’d be.” She shifted, her knee brushing his. “Teaching, I mean.”

Remus wondered what else she could have meant. “Not like we got a lot of preparation.”

Marlene smirked and shifted closer. Remus tried to shift away but just met the resistance of the couch arm. He cleared his throat and suddenly wished for James and his cupcakes back. As luck or fate would have it, the man was nowhere to be found.

“Feel like I’ve not gotten to talk to you,” Marlene repeated. “Outside of class, I mean.”

“Oh, er—busy, I s’pose. Dr.—Dr. Dumbledore—I was speaking with him the other day and he said, uh, he said teaching expands to take up all available space.”

Marlene smiled and took a sip of her drink. “Yes, well, there’s that and also, you know, Sirius’ recruiting you for his—groupies.”

Remus wasn’t entirely sure Marlene was using that word correctly. “Er—his-his groupies?”

Marlene waved the hand not holding her drink, very nearly knocking Remus in the chin. “You know, James, Peter...can’t go anywhere without his fan club.”

There was bitterness in Marlene’s voice and she took another drink.

“Oh, er, I suppose,” Remus said, for lack of anything better to say, though he wouldn’t describe the three of them like that. Marlene didn’t seem receptive to this idea. “Not a Sirius fan, I take it.”

Marlene snorted. “Not hardly.” She finished her drink and smiled at Remus, wrapping her free arm around his neck, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Remus froze. “Er—Marlene—”

Her face fell and she dropped her arm, eyes on her lap. “Too forward?”

“Oh—uh—no, no, I just—I’m not—you’re—it’s—”

“Remus!” Peter yelled, stumbling over. “Remus, Remus, listen—”

Marlene stood, stepping around Peter and disappearing into the kitchen. Remus panicked and nearly dropped his beer in his rush to get up off the couch and follow Marlene into the kitchen, leaving Peter shouting about something--probably Shakespeare, which Remus had no time or patience for at the moment.

In the kitchen, Marlene was glaring at Sirius and Remus got the sense he’d just walked into the middle of a conversation not meant for his ears. He started to back away, but Sirius turned to leave, and Remus supposed it was better to have this conversation now rather than later.

“—nobody’s preventing you from doing anything,” Sirius said, looking up as Remus walked in. His face darkened and he brushed past Remus without a word.

Marlene was making herself another drink.

Remus felt as though he’d missed a step going down the stairs, or as though he’d missed the punchline to a joke, or else grossly misunderstood.

“Look, Marlene, it’s not—it’s not you. Well, I mean, it  _ is  _ you, but it’s not—”

“Oh, please,” Marlene spat. “Jesus, Lupin, don't take shit so seriously, huh?”

She took a sip of her drink and eyed him across the bar. Remus felt exposed, attacked. Uncomfortable under her gaze, to say the least.

“You don’t wanna hook up, that’s fine.” She waved a hand. Remus got the distinct impression that it was  _ not _ fine. “You wanna go— _ moon _ over some other bitch, well— be my guest.” Marlene took a deep drink and brushed past him on her way out of the kitchen before Remus could muster a reply.

He managed to hook his hand around her elbow as she was leaving, tugging her back into the kitchen.

“Listen, Marlene--”

One of the other GAs--Gideon, or Gabriel, or something--burst into the kitchen, vomited into the trash can, and left again.

Marlene tried to pull away, but Remus pulled her back.

“Listen, Marlene, what I’m trying to say is--”

“You’re not the first rejection I’ve gotten, Lupin. I know enough to know when I’m not wanted.”

Remus very much doubted that was true, but he shook his head. “It’s not--it’s not that. I’m--it’s not  _ you _ it’s just--”

“Seven hells, Remus, it’s  _ fine _ , Christ. We weren’t even--Christ.”

“Listen, what I’m trying to say is, you’re not my type--”

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Marlene spat, and Remus shook his head.

“No, not like that. It’s--look, Marlene, I’m trying to keep a low profile, but I’m gay, alright? It’s--the only thing I don’t like about you is that you haven’t got a--you know---”

“Have you got a thing for drag queens, then?” Marlene asked, tone scathing. Remus had the sudden thought that his explanation hadn’t helped at all.

“No, I just--”

“Then I should hope the only thing I’m lacking in order for you to shower me in your affections--which I’m sure are just as  _ delightful _ as your shitty attempt to explain your behavior--isn’t a  _ cock _ .”

Remus blused. “That’s not what I--”

“Maybe you should stop talking,” Marlene snapped and pulled away from Remus. He let her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to find someone who will at least  _ reciprocate _ and not try to talk about  _ fucking feelings _ .”

Remus was a little stunned and he stood in the kitchen for a long moment, only looking up when Sirius came back in, looking a bit brighter. He seemed surprised to see Remus still there, and by himself no less.

“Alright then? I thought you and Marlene’d--y’know. Done what-- whatever straight people do at parties, I suppose.”

Remus felt an ice cube drop into his stomach. “Er--”

“Eloquent as ever, Remus. Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

“Ah--I’m fine,” Remus said, stepping back from Sirius’ touch. He wasn’t sure he could handle that at the moment. Sirius could have just been being his quirky self, or he could have been revealing something about himself. If Sirius had just casually admitted to being gay, Remus wasn’t sure he could handle that at the moment. “I’m fine,” he reiterated, though he felt rather far from it at the moment.

“Right.” Sirius frowned and then turned to grab a bottle of--

“Is that vodka?”

“Damn straight it’s vodka. Want to see something that’ll make you piss your pants?’

“--Not particularly?”

“Figuratively, not literally. Aren’t you a poet?”

“Er--”

“Thought so.”

Sirius grabbed his arm and escorted him from the kitchen into the living room. He handed the bottle of vodka to the same GA that’d vomited in the kitchen earlier (or was it?), who accepted it as though it was normal for Sirius Black to hand him a bottle of straight vodka, and perhaps it was.

“Watch this,” Sirius said, his face bright as he turned to Remus. “You’re about to see the savagery in action.” He nodded to the couch, where Peter was, Remus noticed with a shock, standing on the back, balanced precariously.

“Watch—”

“Oi!” Sirius yelled. “Pete!”

Peter spun, arms windmilling.

Sirius placed the pad of his thumb between his teeth and flicked it at Peter.

Peter’s face purpled. “Do you—” his arms spun. For one heart-stopping moment, Remus thought he’d fall. James lurched forward, but Peter recovered, clearing his throat and tugging his shirt straight. He pointed at Sirius, chin lifted. “Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?!”

Sirius looked over at Remus with a slow, lazy grin. “I do bite my thumb at you, sir.”

“Do you—”

Peter, still balanced on the couch, tipped precariously and then, with an agility Remus wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it, leaped off the couch, landing on his feet in front of Sirius.

“Do you  _ bite your thumb at me _ , sir?”

Sirius grinned lazily down at Peter. The height difference, Remus noted, was comical.

“I do,” Sirius replied, taking a long drink of his beer.

Peter spun on his heel. “He which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse—”

“D’you carry a purse, Pete?” Sirius asked.

“More importantly, are you quoting  _ Henry V? _ ” Remus asked.

Peter pointed at Remus. “I knew I—liked you.” He turned back to Sirius. “Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,” Peter added, looking as somber as he could.

“Fabian, the vodka,” Sirius called and, like magic, Fabian appeared with the vodka.

“That’s the same passage, Peter, that’s cheating,” Sirius said, measuring out a shot (of  _ vodka _ , was Sirius mad?) and handing it to Peter.

Peter glared and took it, chasing it with beer, which made Remus’ stomach churn. He passed his beer off to Remus.

“Villain!” he exclaimed. Remus was only 50% sure that it was directed at Sirius. “I have done thy mother,” he added darkly.

“Not an accomplishment,” Sirius replied. “C’mon, Pete.”

“Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit,” Peter said with a grin, making a lewd gesture at Remus and Sirius turned pink.

“Away, you three-inch fool,” Sirius said and Peter made a face before turning and shouting something at James.

“What was that about?” Remus asked. “I feel like I’ve missed something.”

Sirius was still pink around the ears but he waved a hand. “Ah, hard to understand genius when you’re close to it, yeah?”

“I suppose? Has he really got all of Shakespeare memorized?”

“All of Shakespeare? Not hardly.”

“A lot of it, sounds like.”

“Pete’s got an ear for it, I suppose. Reads it to his mum, I think.” Sirius shot a sharp glance at Remus. “I didn’t tell you that, though.”

“Oh, er, of course.” Remus took another drink of his beer. “Listen, Sirius—”

“Fancy a smoke?” Sirius asked, just as Peter said something that made Mary shriek, and the entire room let out a collective, appreciative gasp, Sirius and Remus excluded.

“Uh—”

Sirius grabbed Remus’ wrist and hauled him towards the balcony.

In fact, now that Sirius had Peter started, he didn’t seem all that interested in watching the events he’d sparked unfold--instead he stepped outside, Remus behind him, and closed the doors, sealing them off in their own little world.

Sirius sighed and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Remus, who declined. Sirius shrugged and leaned on the railing. He really was quite tall, Remus noted, content to observe while Sirius smoked. Leaning on the railing bent him nearly in two—it couldn’t be comfortable, but something about the way Sirius carried himself made Remus think that Sirius was comfortable in any situation, or at least  _ made _ himself comfortable in any situation, which was more than Remus could say for himself.

Perhaps it was the beer, or the shots, or just Remus’ inane curiosity, but he leaned against the railing, facing the opposite direction.

“Listen, Sirius,” he said, and the other looked at him. “What, uh..what—look, forgive me for asking, yeah? But what went—what’s the tension between you and Marlene? Only, I felt as though I walked in on a bit of a row earlier and…” Remus shrugged. “The two of you don’t seem to get along, is all.”

Sirius took a drag off of his cigarette and shrugged. “She’s...Marlene and I’ve never seen eye-to-eye,” he said. “Or, rather, perhaps we see too much eye-to-eye.”

“Pardon?”

Sirius shook his head. “Marlene wants what I’ve got, or what I want. We both want the same thing.”

Remus felt as though Sirius were being intentionally vague. “For school? Have you both—I thought Marlene was poetry.”

“No, not—not for school.” Sirius took a deep drag off his cigarette. “No, if we both wanted the same thing career and education wise, this wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“So…”

Sirius fixed Remus with a look that made Remus’ insides simultaneously melt (not in a good way) and squirm. He finally looked away and Remus felt as though he needed to step out for fresh air, despite the fact that they were on the balcony.

“So she’s a cunt, Remus, and I don’t use that word lightly. She’s a bitch, and a million other unflattering things I could say, but won’t, because-- because she’s---” He took a deep drag off of his cigarette and turned, suddenly agitated. He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Look, Marlene and I--we’ve got--what’s it Taylor Swift calls it?”

“I dunno, I never cared much for Taylor Swift--”

“Oh, she’s annoying as hell, and people who like her are vapid and uninteresting, but that’s not--it’s bad blood, Remus. Marlene and I’ve got bad--bad blood.”

“How d’you mean?” Remus pressed, and perhaps he shouldn’t, but he was anyway.

“Look,” Sirius said, and it was clear he was agitated, though Remus was about 70% sure the agitation wasn’t directed at him, and more at Marlene. “She’s--I had a--a friend,” he said carefully. “A person, right? A very--a very important person. Marlene, she--she fucked him up, pretty bad. Ended up dropping out. And that’s not--that’s not Marlene’s fault, right? She’s--It’s not her fault that he dropped out, only it’s hard not to blame her when--when he was fine before and--and would’ve been, if she hadn’t--”

Sirius shook his head. “That’s all I want to say. She’s a bad sort, and I don’t say that lightly. Be--if you want to be with her, be careful. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

Remus’ head spun. Was Sirius talking about an ex? It certainly sounded that way, but Sirius hadn’t--well, he’d called him a friend, hadn’t he? Of course, Sirius could just be being cautious. Remus sank slowly to one of the seats. It was a bit chilly, he noticed, quite suddenly. Perhaps he ought to go back inside. Belatedly, he realized that Sirius had warned him against Marlene, with the expectation that Remus wanted to--get with her. Or something.

“I’m--She’s not my type,” Remus said slowly. Sirius wasn’t the only one who could speak in vague riddles. “She’s uh--she thought I liked drag queens.” And just like that, he’d ruined it. “I-I mean, not that there’s anything  _ wrong _ with drag queens, just--not my type either. I’m mucking this up. Look, Marlene’s not what I’m interested in--you’ve not got--I mean, I’ve not got anything to worry about, since I doubt she’ll have much of anything to do with my in any case.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Sirius said, and offered Remus a half smile, finishing off his cigarette. Remus returned the smile and Sirius nodded. “Right. Well, we ought to go see what kind of trouble Wormtail’s gotten himself into, yeah?”

(*)

As it turned out, Peter had apparently put on quite the show—quoting a bit of “Venus and Adonis” at Mary, which, according to all sources, made all of them blush, made a total of 7 dick jokes in the course of 5 minutes, quoted the end of the passage of  _ Henry V  _ that he’d started, which included a dick joke, and then vomited, rather spectacularly to all accounts, into his empty cup.

He was passed out on the couch when Sirius and Remus returned from the balcony, and the party was wrapping up. Once everyone but James, Sirius, Lily, Remus, and the snoring Peter had left, James grabbed Sirius’ wrist and turned to Lily and Remus.

“I invoke the right of—”

“Just go,” Lily said, waving them off.

James hauled Sirius off to a back bedroom, leaving Remus alone with Lily (and the snoring Peter). 

“What was that about, then?” Remus asked and Lily waved a hand, gathering a few abandoned glasses. Remus followed suit, gathering trash and dishes to take into the kitchen.

“James and Sirius’ve got a contract,” she said once she was elbow deep in sudsy water and he was busy putting away the leftover food. “I’m sure Sirius has told you.”

Remus nodded. “The custody arrangement.” 

Lily snorted. “Is that what he’s calling it then? Very well. Yes, the custody arrangement. It’s a full-on document, I’ve never read the whole thing, as I’m sure it’d give me a headache the size of America if I did—Sirius and James neither one are known for their vast legal knowledge.” Lily paused, digging through the soapy water and emerging, victorious, with a spoon. “But there’s a—what’d Sirius call it—uh, there’s—certain things they can invoke in times of—of ‘great turmoil, stress, or excitement’ I believe is how it’s worded. Basically, if James or Sirius either one are in dire need of counsel, they’re allowed to have a secret meeting. Or something.” She washed a wine glass and set it aside, pausing for a moment. “Of course, they’re best friends and—and I know Sirius has probably made me out to be this awful, horrible woman, but—I don’t mind that they’re friends. They’re allowed to speak with each other.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I suppose that’s what James was invoking.”

Remus nodded. “They’re quite close, then?”

“Oh, sure,” Lily said. “Y’know, I thought they were a couple at first.”

Remus had just taken a sip of water and he choked. Lily looked up.

“Alright Remus?”

He waved her off and she turned back to the dishes.

“But they’re—neither of them are—are gay.”

“Well, James is straight, sure,” Lily said with a bit of a laugh. “Else this is going to get very awkward very fast.”

Remus felt rather as though he’d swallowed something uncomfortably large and very alive—that is, he felt uncomfortable in the best way—or perhaps the worst. There was, now, hope, however faint, that he and Sirius could—well. Could be  _ something,  _ provided of course that Lily was inferring what Remus thought she was inferring. Still, she hadn’t out and out said. He ought not to get his hopes up.

Belatedly, Remus realized that Lily had asked him a question. “Pardon?”

“I asked how your semester was going,” Lily said with a smile, draining the water and drying her hands. “James is stressed to the max, poor thing. Said he’s got a 25-pager due for Moody next week that he’s barely started.”

“Oh—uh, semester’s fine, I suppose. Teaching’s—well. Teaching is a bit different than anything else I’ve done I suppose.”

“The joy of educating young minds,” Lily said flatly. She shook her head and Remus laughed. Lily smiled. “I don’t mind it, you know. It’s not all bad, only...well, different, I suppose.”

Remus nodded. “I thought I’d take to it naturally. Bit disappointing that hasn’t happened.”

Lily grinned. “Ah, you’re the right sort, you’ll be just fine.”

James and Sirius emerged as Lily spoke and Sirius looked a bit horrified. Remus was confused until—

“Please tell me she’s talking to the cupboards and not you,” he said to Remus and Remus frowned.

“What’re you—”

But Sirius spun on Lily, glaring. “Must you destroy every beautiful thing that I love?”

“Oh, declarations of love, now, is it?”

“Not for  _ you _ ,” Sirius spat. 

“I’m hardly ruined,” Remus said drily, ignoring the fact that Sirius had just, essentially, proclaimed that he loved him.

Sirius shook his head. “You think that now. You’ve not had time for the poison to reach your heart.”

“Oh my god, that’s not how spiders  _ work _ —” Lily started.

“The venom has only just started to trickle through your veins—”

“Venom and poison are two different things, Sirius, you can’t just—”

Sirius raised his voice. “You have but mere days left, I’m afraid. We’ll have to notify the next of kin. James, quill and ink.”

“Quill and—”

To Remus’ complete shock and utter disbelief, James somehow produced an actual  _ quill and ink _ . Remus stared.

“Now, Remus, in the case of your imminent and untimely death, who shall we notify first?”

“Sirius, I’m not—”

“Ah, me,” Sirius said. “An excellent choice. I will be Chief Mourner at your funeral.”

“No, Sirius, I’m not—”

“Ah, you’ll be notifying me twice, then? A wise and noble gesture. Undoubtedly I will be so distraught at the first wave of news that you, my dear Remus, have departed the mortal realm that I will need to hear the news  _ twice _ to fully process—”

“Sirius,  _ please—” _

“A  _ third _ notification? Remus, I must say, this is excessive, even for you. Very well, James—”

“I’m not dying!” Remus suddenly exploded. Peter snorted on the couch and rolled over. Remus sighed. “I’m not—this is ridiculous, I’m not  _ dying _ what are you—”

“Betrayal,” Sirius hissed. “Betrayal most foul. In fact—James, wouldn’t you say that I’ve not been betrayed like this since the time Peter and Barty—had a  _ threesome _ with that awful wanker Tom  _ in my bed? Where I sleep _ ?”

“Wait, Peter had a—”

“Savage, remember,” Sirius said, before returning to his tirade. “You’re essentially sleeping with the enemy!” Sirius said. “Remus, Lily is—”

“Not the enemy,” Remus interrupted. “And I’m not sleeping with—”

“It’s already begun,” Sirius said. “Soon, you’ll be popping off to bring her lunch, and-and—”

“You’re being dramatic,” Remus said flatly. “Lily’s hardly my type. No offense,” he added, turning to Lily.

“None taken,” she said, and put the last of the dishes away. “Anyway, it’s time for me and James to head off to bed.”

“Betrayal,” Sirius said, shaking his head.

“It’s four in the morning and it’s my weekend,” Lily said. “I’ve already shared him longer than I was required to.”

Sirius waved a hand and James and Lily disappeared to James’ room.

Remus paused. “I still—I still prefer talking to you, you know. I can still be friends with—with both of you.”

Sirius smiled. “I know. Riling you and Lily up is one of the small pleasures of my miserable existence.” He patted Remus on the shoulder. “Have to say, though, I like you quite a bit more, and not only because you aren’t Lily.”

Remus tilted his head to the side. “What d’you mean?”

Sirius smiled, wide enough that it almost made his handsome face less attractive. “You’re smart, Remus. And funny, and kind, and—and you don’t let me get away with..with being an arse. At least not for very long. And, well, I don’t let just anybody waltz in and be friends with us. Not that I’m—some kind of guard dog. Just. You’re a good sort, Remus.”

Remus was speechless for a long minute. He wasn’t sure what to say, if he should say anything. He felt he should, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Ah—got-got you fooled then, huh?” he said, because surely Sirius couldn’t think all those lovely things about him. Surely not—the only explanation was that either he had them fooled, or they had him fooled. Remus picked at a bit of chipped Formica.

“No, I don’t fool that easy,” Sirius said lightly. Remus heard him open the fridge and dared to look up. Sirius was bent over, digging through the contents of the fridge. “And you, bless you, but you’re no—Sherlock Holmes, Master of Disguise.”

“That’s not—”

“You couldn’t lie to somebody if they paid you,” Sirius continued, as though he hadn’t heard Remus. He stood, arms full of breakfast items, and set them on the counter. “At least not about who you are.” He paused. “That sounds a bit more Disney than I meant it to, but I make no apologies. Now. How d’you like your eggs?”

He really hadn’t ever stood a chance, Remus thought, watching Sirius prepare them both either a very early breakfast or a very late midnight snack. It was inevitable from the beginning, made more so by the night’s revelations: Remus hadn’t intended to catch feelings, but here he was, and here Sirius was, and Remus didn’t believe in “types,” necessarily, but he couldn’t deny that Sirius checked nearly every box on his “potential partner” list. He’d done so from the beginning, but with the added information that Sirius was gay (or at least not-straight), well. Remus had never stood a chance anyway.

(*)

As Sirius had been his ride from school and Remus hadn’t been home yet, it was late Saturday afternoon when Sirius brought him back to his flat. Remus had intended to just thank Sirius and let him drive off, but he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet.

“Fancy another look at the chocolate drawer?” he asked. “If you’re a very good boy, I might let you try a piece.” The words were out of Remus’ mouth before he thought about them—the result of a hangover and sleep deprivation.

Sirius arched his eyebrows. “What d’you define as a very good boy?” he asked, amusement already creeping in behind his voice.

Remus groaned and leaned his head against the window. “Oh, jesus, Sirius I didn’t mean—”

“I think you did mean,” Sirius said, sounding far more delighted than Remus felt he had any right to be. He pulled into an empty space. “I think you did mean, and now I intend to find out. It’s my civic duty.”

“Trust me,” Remus said, climbing out of the car with a wince. “The citizens do not need to know what constitutes, in Remus Lupin’s opinion, a good boy.”

“They do so!” Sirius argued, following behind Remus as they headed up to his flat. Remus felt a bit as though he were being followed by a large, overly excitable dog. “They do need to know what constitutes, in Remus Lupin’s opinion, a good boy. More importantly,  _ I _ need to know.”

“And why’s that,” Remus asked, jamming his key in the lock.

“The future of our universe hangs in the balance, hinging on what you, Remus Lupin, define as a good boy.”

Remus sighed and decided to surrender to the inevitability of it. “At the moment, a good boy is someone who can make a decent cup of tea and find me something for a headache.”

“We’ll have to split the difference on that one,” Sirius said, without missing a beat. “I’ve got the tea under control, but I never made it past the kitchen in my snooping endeavors, so you’re on your own for the headache medicine.”

“I can handle that,” Remus said, wandering back into his bathroom, listening to Sirius bang around in the kitchen. “By the way, how d’you not have a headache? I saw how much you drank last night.”

“I’m invincible,” Sirius said cheerfully. “Too dashing for headaches.”

Remus cursed quietly. He hadn’t known how much, or in how many forms, that moment of weakness was going to come back to haunt him.

“Yeah, right,” he called back, finally locating the painkiller. 

“I drank water,” Sirius explained as Remus came back into the kitchen. “I drank a lot of water. Poor Pete, though. He still looked green when we left, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Remus agreed, nodding in thanks as Sirius handed him a mug of tea. “Does he always get that—y’know—”

“Trashed? When he drinks, yeah. Then, next morning, he swears he’ll never drink again.”

Remus nodded. “Still parties like he’s an undergrad, yeah?”

Sirius laughed. “You have no idea how much Pete has mellowed out. That threesome he had? I wasn’t making that up. He got in with some real...party hard types.”

“Not you?”

“Nah, I’ve always been the more...I dunno, drink a bit, maybe hook up, but Pete—he’s a—”

“A savage, yeah. Shakespeare though?”

Sirius shrugged. “I think—I know that Peter loves Shakespeare, probably more than his entire life. But so does his mum, and, well,” Sirius shrugged. “There you have it.”

Remus looked down at his tea. “James is—”

“A mother hen,” Sirius grumbled, pulling out his phone. “Fusses over all of us. Yes?” he answered the phone. Remus went back to his tea, trying not to eavesdrop, though Sirius hadn’t walked off.

“I’m fine, I told you, I was taking Remus— no, I’m not going to do that. No. … Drop it. Listen, is your sloth of a girlfriend staying at the flat all weekend? … fine, I’m sorry, is your spinster of a girlfriend— no, I will not be nice, she— fine. Is she staying all—oh, alright. Yeah, see you then. Okay. Yes. I told you to drop it. Bye.” Sirius ended the call and shook his head. “Mother Hen, I told you. Anyway. He’s off to Lily’s for the night and Pete’s gone home. You up for a movie? How’s the ankle? Zoo-ready yet?”

“Ah—I—well, yes, I get the boot off Tuesday, so I could do the zoo, but perhaps not today? I know you somehow repel hangovers, but for us mortals—”

“Did you just call me a god, Remus Lupin?”

“ _ No _ I just—”

“You called me divine!”

“I did  _ not  _ that is gross misinterpretation of my original intent which was—”

“ _ Godly  _ then,” Sirius crowed and Remus blushed. 

“I did not call you anything of the sort. I merely implied—”

“That I am a god among men.”

“Not hardly,” Remus mumbled, but the damage had been done.

“Do Gods deserve chocolate? Have they been very good boys?” Sirius asked, finishing his tea.

“No,” Remus snapped. “But you make a decent cup of tea, so  _ you  _ may have something from the chocolate drawer.”

Sirius looked torn for a moment, but the moment passed and he hopped up, apparently deciding that chocolate was worth more than insisting he was a god.

He pulled it open and shook his head. “This is truly obscene, Remus. I’ve seen some dirty, dirty things, but this—” Sirius clicked his tongue. “This is...true depravity.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Listen, I’ve got to run and make a phone call. My mum—I call her every Saturday afternoon. Think you can manage to entertain yourself for about 15 minutes?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. This drawer alone is enough to keep me occupied for at least ten.”

“Right. Well, enjoy yourself. I’ll be back.”

Sirius hummed in agreement and Remus shut himself in his bedroom.

In all truth, the phone call with his mother would take, at most, five minutes, but Remus needed the other ten to himself, to… well, he didn’t know precisely, but to just be away from Sirius.

Not that he didn’t want to be around Sirius, but rather that Sirius was so— he didn’t know the word he wanted to use. He glanced briefly at his notebook and considered writing it out, but likely any poem he wrote right now would be a sappy love ballad, and Remus had firmly resolved himself to never write one of those.

Sirius was heady—intoxicating. So much and so loud and  _ alive _ that being around him was...a lot. Like being swept up in a tornado. He was a force, and Remus needed just a moment to clear his head, especially if they were going to spend the afternoon together. Alone.

After a brief phone call and a moment of recollection, Remus emerged from his bedroom with a slightly clearer head and a strengthened resolve. 

Just because Sirius was presumably not-straight, and just because Remus was also not-straight didn’t mean that they couldn’t be friends. It was unfair of Remus to put all of his expectations on Sirius, especially when it was assuming a whole hell of a lot to assume that Sirius, in some tiny way, reciprocated the feelings Remus had, somehow, developed. Remus needed to keep his distance, and respect Sirius—and whatever feelings Sirius may or may not have.

This became all the easier when Remus walked into the kitchen to find Sirius, slumped against the kitchen sink, a multitude of wrappers surrounding him, like a sea of regret.

“Do what you must,” Sirius said, sounding somehow both miserable and satisfied, “I have already won.”


	8. In Which Remus Learns About Sirius' American Accent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius watch half of Gone With the Wind. Remus learns Sirius' middle name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I've been quiet for a month and change! I am, like our merry bad of marauders, a graduate assistant, so I had finals to give and receive, and then grade, and then the holidays, etc. etc. I hope that your holidays (if you celebrated) were restful and fun! Please forgive my absence and this, admittedly, short chapter.
> 
> itsnotlove holds all the strings to my heart.

After a trip to the store to replenish Remus’ chocolate supply, they decided to go back to Sirius’ flat to watch a movie. Sirius had found out (through a veritable barrage of questions) that Remus had never seen  _ Gone With the Wind _ and had taken it as a personal affront.

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn?” Sirius asked, in what was perhaps the worst attempt at an American accent Remus had ever heard, and he told Sirius as much. 

“Excuse you,” Sirius had replied, taking this as personally as Remus having never seen  _ Gone With the Wind _ , “My American accent is  _ flawless _ .”

“Your American accent sounds like Kathy Bates in the fourth season of  _ American Horror Story _ ,” Remus replied. “Not a compliment, by the way,” he added, just in case Sirius got any ideas.

“That’s cruel and unusual, Mr. Lupin,” Sirius said. “You’re a monster.”

“Alas, my secret is revealed,” Remus deadpanned. “However will I go on.”

“I’m going to ruin you with this, Lupin,” Sirius said. “Everyone will know.”

“The horror,” Remus replied flatly.

“My American accent is flawless,” Sirius sniffed as they pulled into the parking lot of the complex.

“Uh, sure,” Remus said, climbing out of the car and following Sirius up to the flat. 

“We’re watching  _ Gone With the Wind _ ,” Sirius said, “and then you’re going to tell me how flawless my American accent is.”

“Undoubtedly,” Remus replied. “Do you own it?”

“James got me the collectors edition, three christmases ago,” Sirius replied, without missing a beat.

“Of course he did.”

“What James and I have cannot be torn apart by any man, woman, or supernatural being.”

Briefly, Remus recalled Lily saying something about James and Sirius being mistaken for a couple. He understood, suddenly.

“Lily.”

“If that is her real name.”

“You know, Sirius, she’s not—”

“You better not be about to defend that sea-witch.”

“I just mean—”

“Men with more pull on my eternal soul have tried and failed, Remus.”

“James.”

“The scallywag,” Sirius said, unlocking the door and waving Remus in.

“Not thirty seconds past you were singing his praises.”

“Ours is a complicated love.”

“You know--” Remus debated for a moment, but then decided to hell with it. “You know, Lily told me she thought you and James were a couple at first.”

Sirius looked over at Remus. “Who says we  _ aren’t _ ?’

“---I thought James and Lily--”

“James Potter, bless him, hasn’t ever had eyes for anyone aside from Lily Evans,” Sirius said, as though he hadn’t heard Remus, which Remus was getting used to fairly quickly. “This does not, however, mean that James and I are not a couple.”

“I meant--”

“I know what you meant. Look, James and I---as much as I joke, he’s...James’s my brother.”

“And your boyfriend? That’s illegal in at least--”

“Look, Remus, you--you seem like a fairly well-adjusted person.”

Remus narrowed his eyes.

“Excepting, of course, that you think Lily Evans is human, but we all have our faults. Look, you--my point is, you---come from good stock. Right?”

“Er--I suppose?”

“You haven’t got--I dunno--crazy family secrets? I mean--crazier than--than anyone has a right to be, you know?”

“Uh--no?” Remus wasn’t even sure what that meant.

“No—great aunts with no teeth and weirdly human-like cats?”

“—What?”

“You don’t have a toothless, semi-distant relative who owns what she  _ claims _ are cats, but who you feel are a bit too much like humans to warrant being called cats?”

“That’s—very specific, are you—”

“Look, Remus, I—my family are...kind of fanatical. Old money, lots of inbreeding. There’s—reasons for all that, of course, but honestly, it all boils down to them being crazy and fanatical. They kicked me out when I was 16. James has been my family ever since.”

“I—I didn’t realize—”

Sirius waves him off. “You had no way of realizing, so if you’re about to apologize for something, you can stop. Look, I’ve known James for—13 years or something, and he might be madly in love with Lily Evans, but he’s—more than that, to me. Not in a romantic way. Although I personally find Lily boorish and a bit obnoxious—”

“She feels the same way, doubtless,” Remus interjected. Sirius continued on as though he hadn’t heard.

“James Potter’s the only real family I’ve ever had. We’re bonded.”

Remus wasn’t sure what to say, but was spared a response when Sirius handed him the DVD of  _ Gone With the Wind  _ and told him to get it going. Then he disappeared into the kitchen for snacks, leaving Remus alone in the living room.

It took Remus three tries and four curse words to locate and figure out the DVD player, but by the time Sirius had returned from the kitchen with snacks, Remus had  _ Gone With the Wind  _ queued up.

Remus settled on the couch and, to his surprise (or perhaps not at all to his surprise in the slightest), Sirius settled right next to him, stretching his long legs out and getting, by Remus’ approximation, quite comfortable, before he grabbed the remote and looked over at Remus.

“Are you ready to have your entire life changed?” Sirius asked solemnly. Remus felt that this was rather dramatic.

“It’s a movie, Sirius, it’s not—”

“It’s my  _ favorite _ movie, Remus.”

“Right, but it’s still just—”

“If you’re about to insult Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, right now, immediately.”

“Sirius—”

“Clark Gable, may he rest in peace, is—look, every—every not-straight person has….a moment of awakening.”

Remus turned to Sirius so quickly his neck ached. Sirius seemed oblivious.

“Clark Gable is—and will always be—my first love.”

“Er—” Remus said, rather eloquently, but Sirius held up a hand.

“Is the man perfect? Certainly not. But to a young Sirius Orion Black—”

“Your middle name is  _ Orion _ ?”

“Not the point, don’t interrupt, but yes—to a young  _ and dashing  _ Sirius Orion Black, Clark Gable—or more accurately, Rhett Butler—was the epitome of masculine perfection.” Sirius paused to take a sip of his drink. “I’m sure you had a—a celebrity crush, at some point.”

If Remus had been thinking, he’d have said something that also gave Sirius the impression that he was gay, or at least of the not-straight variety. As it were, Remus was not thinking, so he blurted the first thing that came to mind:

“Well, yeah, what young lad didn’t drool over Britney Spears?” Remus asked. Sirius arched an eyebrow. Remus wanted to die. Of course, as was his signature by this point, he just kept digging the proverbial hole. “I-I mean, unless you’re more of a-an Xtina type, of course.”

“Justin Timberlake, actually,” Sirius said.

“He’s nice too, if you’re into that,” Remus said before he thought about what he was saying.

Sirius sighed and shifted on the couch. “—anyway. Clark Gable/Rhett Butler—the subject of many a fantasy of a young Sirius Orion Black.”

“Your middle name is Orion?”

“Remus, we’ve established this.”

“Yes, I know, I just--every time you say it--”

“That’s  _ not the point _ , Remus, the point is--Clark Gable aka Rhett Butler aka the subject of my young fantasies--the point is, you’re about to be  _ introduced _ to him, aren’t you excited?”

“I know who Clark Gable is.”

“Yes, well, thank goodness for that,” Sirius replied rather snootily, and then hit play on the remote, leaving Remus to replay the conversation in the dark. Next to Sirius. No problem, he thought. No problem at all.

(*)

They’d reached the part where Scarlett proclaimed that she’d never go hungry again--dramatically re-enacted by Sirius’ voice talents--when Sirius’ phone buzzed, and Peter’s name--along with a picture of him flattened against the screen--popped up. Sirius paused the movie.

“Pete!” he said upon answering the phone. 

Remus couldn’t hear Peter’s reply, and he got up to use the bathroom while Sirius finished his conversation. When Remus returned to the living room, the lights were on and the TV was off. Sirius was shrugging into his jacket and he looked up as Remus walked in. Immediately, Remus could tell something was a bit… off.

“Everything alright?”

“Er--yeah, Pete’s got--bit of an emergency. D’you--look, I hate to do this, but could I run you home quick? I’ve got to--I need to go help. It’s not--it’s not that you’re not invited, of course, it’s just--”

“No, no, no, of course I understand, yes, just let me--” Remus shrugged into his own coat and struggled into his shoes as Sirius frowned down at his phone. “I--is everything alright?”

“Er--well, no, but--but no one’s--everyone will be alright, in the end. I suppose. Sorry, it’s just--this is more Peter’s bit to tell, yeah?”

“--Of course. Of course.” Remus fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “I--er, I can grab an uber, it’s no--”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, your flat’s on the way.”

As it turned out, Remus had enough grading to keep him occupied until dinner and then for a bit afterward. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t check his phone every time it lit up for a word from Sirius, James, or Peter, but they remained quiet and Remus, not wanting to meddle, didn’t pry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to read any thoughts you'd care to share.


End file.
